In a Year's Time
by gabthebomb
Summary: A series of vignettes involving Jack and Liz over the course of a year. Technically a sequel to 'All Roads Lead To Us', but can be read alone.
1. January

_January_

They say that good things come to those who wait.

There are moments, of course, of fleeting happiness; inklings of joy that are experienced at the speed of light. Like when you spot a smiling baby on the street, or see a young man gazing at rings in a store window, or happen upon a two-for-one donut deal. Flashes of life. These instances provide bliss, but only temporarily. It is the lasting pleasures that are harder to come by, and their rarity makes them so much more extraordinary.

Elizabeth Lemon, at age 41, is familiar with this concept perhaps better than anyone.

Over the years, she's come to realize that her standards for men are a little high, maybe even borderline ridiculous. That, paired with awful situations and bad timing, means that she's managed to stay uncommitted for an impressive length of time.

That is, until the fall of TGS' sixth season.

Of course, she wasn't always so quick to accept her love for Jack. Why should she? It seemed utterly unnatural; impossible. How often did the big shot executive fall for the swarthy comedy writer? Exactly. In her case, the big shot in question seemed eager to criticize her, not romance her. She paid more attention to the things Jack said, rather than the way he looked at her. To her, the idea of them together was simply…unthinkable. So she refused to pursue it, and let the tension build up.

But that was before. It was back then; during those years when she refused to acknowledge the potential that they had, when the thought of losing so much control over personal happiness was unbearable to her. Eventually, she realized that if she didn't take risks, then all she'd have were those fleeting moments.

The point is, she's with Jack now, and all she has to worry about is whether or not the movers will take some of her stuff for themselves, like she's read about. And if Jack has enough closet space for her in his bedroom.

Talk about first-world problems.

**...**

Liz moves the lettuce around on her plate. She isn't really paying attention to her lunch—or her lunch companion. Her focus is somewhere outside the window that she sits next to. Specifically, on 168 Riverside Drive, where a stack of cardboard boxes sit waiting to be packed.

"Earth to Liz," Jenna says. "Hello. Anybody in there?"

"What?" Liz replies, turning back to her friend.

"I was just asking how the plans for the move are coming."

"Pretty good, actually. I've been trying to get rid of stuff, but it's hard, what with all the Craigslist serial killers."

"Uh huh. What kind of stuff?"

"Well, we decided that it wouldn't really make sense to move any of my furniture into a place that's already fully equipped. Ugh, that sounds dirty."

She frowns, but continues.

"Anyways, do you know anyone who could use a queen-sized mattress with a couple of cheese Doritos stains?"

**...**

Jimmy Fallon is playing on mute, and they watch lazily, still panting. Jack runs his hand over her lower back and she smiles against his chest. He looks down at her, wondering if something has triggered the smile or if she is just happy.

"Even when you have my entire body at your disposal, your hand still finds its way to my lower back," she teases.

"Habit," he says, not removing his hand. "To be honest, I like your lower back. My hand fits perfectly there."

She thinks of him leading her through the halls of NBC, and smiles at the memories. Who cares if it took them this long to become more than friends? They already have plenty of shared moments that she wouldn't trade for anything. In a way, maybe they work better now because of the history that got them here.

Their eyes meet and hold. Beneath the sated expressions and remaining traces of lust, they both can see the love and near disbelief in each other's eyes. A few months together, and some moments feel like they've been sharing a bed forever, like what they have is almost too good to be true.

"I'm so happy we decided to do this," she sighs.

"Move in, you mean?"

"Yes. That. Other stuff. All of it."

"As am I."

**...**

It's not as bad as she thought it would be. Her brain, always eager to question the hell out of any situation, seems to have lost to her heart. She obviously had some doubts about adjusting to sharing living quarters with Jack, but to be honest, it's so much easier than before. She doesn't have to run home for something she's forgotten at an inconvenient time. They even have a system. He makes coffee; she drinks it. He pays the cleaning lady; she opens the door to let the cleaning lady in. It's perfect.

And his apartment has way more bathrooms than hers apartment does. Even hidden ones that she didn't know about until she explored a little. So that's a plus.

She likes coming home from work to find him making dinner, or even just opening take-out containers. Once in a while, Jack will go all out and make her favorites (usually after he's done a merger or something). If she comes home early, she'll make lasagna from scratch. Single life has made her lazy in the kitchen, but dammit if she won't try. Besides, she rather likes the domestic scene. Not that she'd ever say so; not while she's still a Lizbean/feminist. She likes that food brings them together, though, so she's happy to make an effort.

And sometimes, a good meal makes the best foreplay.

**...**

Skin whispers across thousand-thread count sheets in the dark as she climbs in the bed.

A shiver runs through Liz's body, the finest of quivers, raising gooseflesh in response as she clenches her teeth to keep them from chattering. She curls into a tight ball, trying to generate enough heat to warm her frozen limbs, even as she tries not to disturb the man already asleep in their bed, wrapped in warmth and quiet darkness. A low masculine sigh breaks the silence when Jack stirs, as if sensing her presence.

She goes motionless, trying not to disturb his slumber; he's been working long hours lately and sleep is a precious commodity for both of them. But as an involuntary shudder wracks her frame, she feels him come fully awake.

"Lemon?" His voice is husky, smoky with sleep.

Her teeth are clenched so tightly that she can't respond, even as another shudder shakes her.

"Lemon…?" His hand reaches out, only to come into contact with brutally chilled flesh.

He involuntarily jerks away. "Good God!" The shock in his voice snaps through the quiet air. But his hand immediately comes back to fall on her skin, fire against ice.

"Where have you been?" But before she can answer, he is already reaching out to pull her closer. "Come here."

He winces when her cold palms feebly resist him through his T-shirt, trying to maintain the space between them. "N...n...no. Too c...cold."

"Exactly." Ignoring her protests, he simply pulls her closer, turning her and spooning his warm body around her cold one; letting his flesh warm hers. He pulls the blankets tighter around them, cocooning them in warmth.

With a ragged exhalation, she goes still as he encircles her in his arms, her back against his broad chest. He feels the tremors that ripple through her body, still rigid with tension. One wide palm strokes her flat abdomen soothingly, while his other hand rises to her face, his fingertips dancing lightly over her cool cheek. Slowly, the heat from his body seeps into her skin, and Jack feels the stiffness leave her frame as she finally relaxes into him.

She gives a tired sigh, but turns her face towards him, pressing her lips against his.

"Hi."

"Care to explain where you've been that's got you this cold?"

"Ugh. Pete had the fantastic idea of shooting promos on the ice skating rink. Of course, we had to wait until night skating was over, which meant, oh, midnight. I'm sure Jenna will be hospitalized for hypothermia from the skirt she was wearing."

"How tragic…did you get the commercials?"

"Shut up!"

"In all seriousness, it's got to be twenty degrees out there at best. You could have gotten frostbite." Her slender body gives a small shiver and he pulls her closer, nestling her hips against his. She feels so tiny in his arms, but far from insignificant.

"I know," she mumbles.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"It was late…I didn't want to bother you. I did text you earlier that I'd be staying behind."

She can feel him shaking his head at her stubbornness. "I assumed you were staying late to write or shoot _inside._ I would have just sent you a car."

"I didn't think it would take so long. Besides, you'd already had a busy day." She yawns hugely, and Jack feels her body loosen against his. She is starting to fade.

"Okay." He strokes his fingers across her side. "But next time call me," he insists. The strokes become longer, slower, lighter, purposefully lulling her into slumber.

Liz mumbles unintelligibly, but her left hand moves to intertwine her fingers with his over her stomach, holding onto him in the dark. He feels her slide naturally into sleep, her breathing falling into a soft, steady cadence.

Closing his eyes, holding her safe and warm in his arms, he lets himself follow her.

**...**


	2. February

_**A/N – sorry if it's a bit late to establish this, but I want to make clear that there is no Liddy in this story.**_

**...**

_February_

Sometimes, it's the completely ordinary aspects of a person that make them so special.

"How was work?"

"Not terrible. Tracy lost a minimal amount of body parts during rehearsal today—only his eyebrows, apparently he's allergic to wig adhesive—and Jenna's dressing room is finished with construction, so she's done making the bathroom on six her personal vanity. What about you? Did you synergize any flow-plans?" Liz says between mouthfuls of dim-sum.

"That's not a thing."

"I know it's not a _thing_. I was being funny."

Jack frowns thoughtfully. "Now, enabling the flow of a synergy-plan. That's a thing."

"I'm sure it is."

He observes Liz shoveling noodles into her mouth, glasses slightly askew and hair in a ponytail. By the end of the day, she's often done making an effort, but Jack thinks she looks cute. He often marvels at how she manages to pull it off at her age, but she does. She's managed to prove to him that she's capable of beautiful, sexy, and cute—and he likes any of those just fine. Because he's come to realize that the real Liz Lemon is all of those things.

Jack knows that a lot of people (maybe even Liz) are shocked they're still together. He was worried for a little while, but he got over it. After all, though they are different in many ways, they go well together.

He likes how he is totally at ease around her. She already knows how frequently insensitive and egocentric he can be and is still with him. She won't break up with him over his idiosyncrasies, and vice versa, because they've had six years to become familiar with each other's…quirks. Even when they disagree about things, he can be honest. Liz is extremely neurotic sometimes, but she is also strong-willed and opinionated like he is. She can hold her own and had already put him in his place on more than one occasion.

He likes it when she does this last bit more than he'll admit.

**...**

February's freezing, as always. Every year, the middle of winter brings a grayness that turns even the most social animals into couch potatoes. The cold rattles the bones of everyone, and makes going outside a chore, so it's great for Liz that she can abuse the town car as much as she wants. In fact, she's a bit proud that she's managed to take laziness to a whole new level.

The temperature in New York on this early afternoon is 14 degrees, and it won't improve. The sun is trying to shine, but gives no warmth. Liz has absolutely no desire of leaving the office ever again. So of course Jack, in a rare burst of boyish glee, is trying to convince her to go skating.

"I have better things to do with my lunch break than freeze my ass off."

"If you just relax, Lemon, you may find yourself enjoying it."

"I seem to recall nearly dying the last time I went out there." She gestures towards the plaza out the window behind her.

"That was nearly a month ago, and you won't be standing still behind a camera; you'll be moving around. I happen to know that you're showing a rerun this week and so won't need to write a sketch until tomorrow, at least. Come on."

She looks into his laughing blue eyes and finds she can't refuse. Twenty minutes later, Jack holds a pair of ice skates by their laces, dangling them in front of his face, and she frowns, wondering how he'd even charmed her into doing this. She's cold; adequately dressed, but she might as well be naked; her clothes form no protection against the icy wind.

Rockefeller hosts the usual crowd: tourists; parents skating with their children. She sees a few couples here and there, holding hands and laughing. Liz holds out her arm, accepting the skates from Jack. After asserting that they're the right size, she quickly takes off her shoes and slips into the skates. They're snug around her feet and it's an oddly comfortable feeling.

"Come on, Lemon," he says, echoing his words from earlier. He holds out his cashmere gloved hand and she accepts, smiling as he pulls her up. They skate off, following the flow of skaters, and fall into a comfortable silence.

After a while they stop near the edge; Liz's cheeks are flushed from the cold and the wind has mussed Jack's hair slightly. She leans up and kisses his cheek; he turns, and kisses her on the lips. It's nothing too passionate, just a short, affectionate peck.

But her lips tingle, and she has thoughts of what she wants to do to him when they're back upstairs. How does this man turn her into a schoolgirl all over again?

They deepen the kiss, and a few teenagers from Kansas snap a photo, but they hardly care.

Two joined silhouettes against a frozen sky.

**...**

The dirty truth is that people don't really want to be separated from their drama.

They say they do—they tell themselves that they wish they were "normal"; that they would prefer a simpler life. But they don't really mean it. Deep down, they don't want to be separated from brokenness and insecurities; the hidden scars and the still sore wounds. They protect their deformities; guard them with irrational abandon. And, despite what is said, they don't really want someone to come into their life and fix them.

What people really desire is someone who can come into his or her life and accept the shit that he or she comes with. Someone who looks at all the dysfunction and says _this is a piece of who you are, so it's beautiful_.

Liz thinks that maybe she's found that in Jack.

**...**

The restaurant is busy, but Jack and Liz are in their own world. The clinking of silverware reaches their ears in the form of a dull hum, and the conversation flows easily.

Luck is on his side tonight. An old connection of his from business school who manages a fine German restaurant in the Village is able to get him a table in his establishment. Various assortments of meat are brought to them, breads, a mixture of ales for them to choose from. Liz speaks to the native waiters in decent German and they are suitably impressed, enthralled by her. Waiters fuss over the beautiful lady under their service and he continues to hide his annoyance at their intrusion.

She compliments his choice of restaurant and he's glad that she's enjoying herself. She sips her wine contentedly and Jack barely eats, fascinated by her.

The dark cocktail dress rides on her thigh, exposing the tender skin below. He wants to drop his hand to the firm flesh, creep beneath the hem and discover whether she has opted for dinner sans underwear or not. She wears a bracelet on her slim wrist that she tells him had once belonged to her mother. The gemstones don't have the same lustre as new stones, but they are eye catching still. He proposes a toast.

"To anticipation," he says. Liz wonders what it implies but smiles politely and tips her glass against his. Their glasses are refilled, dinner plates are removed and desserts brought. Liz nearly kills him with the noises she makes while eating her German chocolate cake, and when there's finally a lull, he can't wait another moment.

He removes an object from his pocket and places it on the table. Her eyes settle on the robin's-egg-blue box, and she frowns.

"Valentine's Day was last week, Jack. You already got me a present, remember?"

He shakes his head, and opens the box.

"Elizabeth Miervaldis Lemon…" he begins, careful to pronounce her name correctly.

"…Lemon. There isn't anyone whom with I'd rather spend the rest of my life with. Will you marry me?"

The ring that he holds out to her is beautiful—a simple cut that glitters just right.

Her eyes sparkle prettily in the restaurant's soft lighting, and she blinks once to hold the tears back. Perhaps she really can have it all…and that's when she realizes: she already does.

She has found someone who is monogamous (if only rather recently) and rarely nice to his mother. Someone who likes musicals, even enough to surprise her with tickets to her favorite. Someone with clean hands and feet and beefy forearms, like a damned Disney prince. Or at least he looked like one in his twenties. Someone who genuinely likes her, even at her age (which is not quite old, but getting there). Someone who she can say and do anything to, because he's known her for so long and there's no need to hide. He's the person who both challenges and completes her; a workaholic who can keep up with her, but take care of her when she can't be strong; her best friend and mentor.

And maybe above all, he's someone who is as messed up as she is. Yes, she has everything she needs in Jack, and marrying him is what she wants.

So she replies, "Yes."

There aren't words, so they share a look instead. They find that they're able to say everything.

**...**


	3. March

_March_

There are things that are impossible to forget; the defining moments that make or break a person. The death, or deaths, of someone close. A first kiss. The letter that confirms employment at a dream job.

How one feels when she finds out she's pregnant.

Liz already knows what it feels like. Been there, done that—with Dennis, true, but it counts. She remembers her emotions with clarity. Fear. Hope. Disappointment when it turned out to be fake, but relief because it meant she could wipe the Dennis slate clean for good.

On a March afternoon that's definitely more 'lion' than 'lamb', Liz is crouched in a bathroom stall on six, clutching a small cardboard box from the Duane Reade downstairs.

She counts slowly, carefully.

It's deja-vu all over again as she stares at the pregnancy test. Her heart pounds against her chest; a million thoughts run through her mind. She can't be pregnant. She _can't_. But Liz cannot deny that she missed her period. It's always like clockwork. She also can't deny what a little blue plus sign means.

Liz leaves the stall, and does what she expects most women do when they find out they're pregnant—she looks in the mirror. After a few minutes of staring at her rapidly blurring reflection, she forces herself to think rationally. It could be, probably is, a false positive. It's true that she hasn't had Sabor de Soledad in ages, but it could be something, anything else. She doesn't know what she hopes. She does know that it's not the same this time. She can't really explain it, but it feels different than something brought on by Mexican cheese curls.

…

After three days of torturous waiting, Liz finally gets a call back from the doctor's office.

When it's her turn to be seen, she stands from the hard plastic chair and wipes her hands on her jeans. She's nervous for a number of reasons, the least being that she switched doctors recently and has only spoken to her new OB/GYN over the phone. A woman who she assumes is Dr. Rose is holding a chart of some sort, but Liz can't tell what it reads from here.

"Hi, Elizabeth…"

"Call me Liz."

They shake hands.

"Liz. It's great to meet you. We'll be in room four; I'll see you in just a moment."

She finds the room, and tries not to break something out of anticipation. She's about to snap the tongue depressor that she's fiddling with when Dr. Rose enters the room, still holding the clipboard.

"How are you, Liz?"

No use in stalling. "I'm fine. What are my results?"

The doctor consults her file while Liz awkwardly tries to stick the depressor in her pocket. It doesn't really fit.

"They're positive. Congratulations, you're going to be a mother!"

"What the _what_?" she says, her face a mixture of surprise and incredulity.

"You're about four weeks along. Now, your blood work is fine, and I see that this is your first pregnancy. At your age, you will need to take some extra precautions to lower risks of…"

She's still talking, but Liz can only hear a high-pitched ringing.

"Excuse me, I think I need a moment."

"…Of course. If you'd like to use the restroom, it's the second door on the right."

By the time Liz finds the bathroom, she finds herself dizzy and leans on the sink to keep from falling over.

There is a live being inside of her. An embryo, really, but still.

Liz knows that she can be careless sometimes. When she became sexually active, she went on the pill, but she tends to forget (as made apparent by that embarrassing conversation with Cerie a few years ago). Especially lately—she and Jack don't always use protection, and besides, she'll be 42 in two months. It really wasn't at the front of her mind.

She wants a baby…scratch that_._ She _craves_ for a baby. And then there is Jack. She loves him; it took her a long time and a lot of mistakes to realize that. Adoption is always an option, but Liz knows now that she doesn't want any baby. She wants _his _baby.

She snorts when she realizes that it probably happened the night they got engaged. She remembers their passion that night, both of them flying high from the delicate—but also likely—promise that the future held. In the next second, she feels like crying. This baby is everything she ever wanted, but how will _Jack _feel about it? And even if he is ecstatic, she doesn't know if _she_ dares to hope. Liz is aware of the risks that someone her age faces.

When she returns to the small white room, the doctor is sliding her file into a folder. They seem to be done, and she just has to sign a few documents. When she finishes, Liz runs her hand through her hair, and tries to think of anything else she should know.

The doctor notices her gesture. "That's a lovely ring, Liz. Your fiancée will be ecstatic, I'm sure."

"Yeah. I hope so."

"Well, after you share the news, be sure to call in the next few days to set up a schedule with us."

"I will. Thank you, Dr. Rose."

…

Liz pours a significant amount of energy into not making conversation at dinner. She hasn't quite figured out what to say yet, and she's afraid that she'll mess everything up if she opens her mouth. Jack knows something is wrong—she's never been good at hiding—but he seems to be satisfied with her claims of simply being exhausted. At least it's not a total lie.

"I'm sorry to drag you out tonight. If I'd known you were so tired, it wouldn't have been a problem to let the reservations go," he says.

"No, don't worry about it. I'm not any less hungry." She laughs weakly.

The waiter approaches their table and hands them their menus.

After a few minutes, Jack looks up from the wine list. "Lemon, what will you have?"

She shakes her head quickly, causing her glasses to slide down a bit.

"Uh. Nothing. I mean, I don't really want anything to drink. No thank you, please."

She clamps her mouth shut, aware that she's babbling.

Jack frowns at her. "No wine? But you always..." he trails off.

Liz bites her lip, and avoids his stare. "What I mean is, um, I can't."

She really hopes he puts that brain of his to use, because she may throw up if she has to say it herself.

His eyes grow wide when he gets it. "No. You aren't...?"

She nods slowly, and silently wills him to say something. The two seconds that pass while he just stares at her in shock hang in there for about a million years.

"But how...?" he stops, remembering that they had neglected to use protection.

Liz stays silent, still trying to gauge his feelings on the matter.

Tired of being incapable of forming a complete sentence, Jack clears his throat. "Wait, I'm the father, right?" he frowns.

"Duh, Jack. Sorry. That was mean. Of course you're the father."

Slowly, his face lightens into a smile.

She remembers how to breathe again.

But when he still doesn't say anything, just sits there grinning like a fool, she starts feeling anxious again.

"Look, Jack, I know this is completely unexpected, and I still can't believe it myself, but—" And then she can't finish her sentence, because Jack's out of his seat and into her booth with one arm wrapped around her waist to bring her closer to him. His lips land on hers, and she responds excitedly after a moment.

"You are pregnant?" He finally manages to say, the grin refusing to leave his face while he gently brushes her cheek with his thumb.

"Yes." She smiles shyly.

"And you're sure that it's positive?" he asks carefully.

"A positive home pregnancy test and blood exams leaves no doubts, I guess. I made sure to get entirely cheese curl-free results."

"Amazing."

She leans her head back on the booth. "You're not mad?"

"I couldn't be happier, Lemon. You've wanted this so long…I know we haven't really talked about it lately, but I want it, too."

"Thank God. I almost barfed from nerves on the way over here."

"Well, get used to it. Morning sickness is a very real thing. Colleen once made it clear to me that every time she was sick while pregnant, it was me forcing her to purge a little bit of her soul out," he mutters.

"Just make sure you get out of the way in time."

"Lemon, I plan on being in your way for the next nine months. This baby is not going to be born with a cheesy blasters addiction if I have anything to do with it."

"Cheesy blasters contain the suggested fiber amount, Jack."

They bicker about cheesy blasters, babies, and barf for the next few hours.

…

That night, he feels the urge to be gentle. After several minutes of light fondling, though, Liz has had enough.

"Jack, come on. It's not dangerous. You can do stuff...harder."

"I know. I just want to be careful."

Liz sighs. "Stop worrying. Dr. Rose said that…sexual activity…is fine. And apparently, I'm probably going to be pretty horny at times. More than now, even. So you should, you know. Prepare yourself."

Jack hums into her neck. "Really."

"Ye-es," she whines.

In fact, she's quite ready to go right now. She's actually annoyed that her undergarments are still on her body.

When he's still careful to respond, she urges, "_Jack_." The breathiness of her voice leaves him unable to resist, and he gives in.

His suddenly eager hand slides down her side, over the curve of her hip before reaching her backside, pulling her close to him. She's soaked, and he groans against the base of her neck. He kisses a trail from her lips to the valley of her breasts and finally removes her bra. She clings to his neck, nails embedding themselves into his skin. He slides her panties down her ankles and she kicks them aside. When he happens to look down at her, he can't help but pause.

"You're beautiful," he says, unable to hide his awe. He's going to be a father. When she smiles encouragingly, he kisses her softly and presses himself into her warm and welcoming core. She fits him like a glove and he shivers as her fingers grip him. He moves slowly at first, before remembering her words. Before long they are shattering in each other's arms.

After a little while, he moves one hand over her stomach. For now, the slight roundness is all Liz, but it won't be for long. He can barely believe it.

"We can do this," she says, echoing his thoughts. "Right?"

He waits until she is facing him completely.

"Without a doubt, Lemon. I can't think of anyone who wants this more. You're going to be a wonderful mother."

"A mother," she repeats, traces of wonder in her tone.

He smiles back. A few minutes later she leaves the bed to retrieve the bag of popcorn from the microwave. Because, really. They deserve a treat after all of that hard work.

…

It's been ten days since Liz has known, and she still hasn't told her best friend. It just hasn't felt right to announce it. She doesn't know how Jenna will react, and to be honest, she's a little scared that her friend won't be happy for her.

But now, sitting here over lunch with Jenna, she feels like she can't keep it a secret any longer. She and Jack had agreed to wait until the second trimester to announce the pregnancy to everybody, but Jenna has always (and will be) the exception to that rule. She can't hide it from her best friend and really, she just wants to tell her about the baby.

"…new with you?" Jenna asks, poking at her salad. She's been talking about herself for a full twenty minutes. It's actually a record for her; she can usually go on for the whole hour.

Liz makes the decision before she loses her nerve.

"I'm pregnant," she says, just like that, in a soft whisper.

When her friend doesn't say anything, Liz lifts her head to look up at her. Jenna's sitting next to her on the office couch, completely frozen.

"Jenna? Hello…?" she asks slowly.

"You're pregnant?" Jenna finally finds her voice again.

"Yes."

Liz smiles, just before the blond leans over and wraps her in a typical-Jenna bone-crushing hug.

"Oh my God, Liz!" Jenna lets go, still not believing in what she'd just heard. "You can't keep dropping big news like that without a warning! You almost gave me a heart attack telling me you finally slept with Jack… and now this?_ God_," she sighs. "Wait a minute… is it Jack's?" Her eyes widen. "Of course it's Jack's! _It's his, right_?"

Liz rolls her eyes. "Yes, it's Jack's."

"Oh my God… how did this happen?"

"I don't think I need to explain to you how it happened, Jenna…"

"You know what I mean. It's just… You're having a baby! With Jack! And Paul and I are adopting a lion cub, and our lives are just moving so fast!" Jenna sighs happily, oblivious to Liz's look of incredulity.

Because Liz is pretty sure that lion cubs in New York apartments are illegal.

"Yeah, thanks for your support…girlfriend."

"And I'm godmother, right?"

"Huh? Oh…"

"Wait, you're not thinking of _Hazel _or something, are you?"

Liz ponders this for a moment. She gets the feeling that Hazel will try to buy the baby off her or something when she finds out. No, Hazel is most definitely not capable of godmother duties. Whatever those may be.

"…Face it, Liz, as someone who is both intelligent and nat-urally blond, I'm your best candidate for godmother."

"Jenna, I wasn't even thinking of Hazel. Of course you're the godmother."

She covers her ears for protection from Jenna's squeal.

…


	4. April

_April_

It's bitter cold for the time of year; rainy, and dark by late afternoon. The place is crowded with people looking for refuge from the weather. He blows into the coffee shop with a gust of wind, and spots her across the room immediately, hair pulled up in a casual mess of curls.

Liz's eyes are closed, and she smiles slightly as she relishes the steam from the cup of tea that she holds in front of her. Jack watches as she breathes the rich aroma then frowns as if she is unable to decide whether she likes it. Liz opens her eyes to face the window, probably searching for his figure in the street outside. She doesn't notice him approaching her table, and jumps a little when he announces his arrival with a deep kiss.

"You're late, Jack."

"I'm sorry. I got caught up."

He orders a coffee, and they catch up over the next few minutes. While they discuss plans for a new nursery, Liz continues to add sugar to her drink.

"Lemon, are you trying to give yourself diabetes?"

"I know it's bad, but I just can't get used to this stuff. I miss real caffeine."

"I'm sure a cup of coffee wouldn't kill you."

She frowns. "Jack, I'm trying to do this right. Don't tempt me."

This is true. She's been good; laying off the junk food and being very open-minded about her doctor-approved foods…for the most part ("Asparagus? No effing way, Jack."). Liz likes to sneak chocolate chips into her Greek yogurt when she thinks he isn't looking.

They chat for a while, and people-watch. Jack zeros in on a couple standing in line, loudly driving everyone else nuts with a never-ending stream of endearments. During the five or six minutes that he has been watching them, they've called each other 'hon' or 'babe' or 'baby' at least two dozen times. If they keep it up, he just might lose his mind.

"Do you know what you want, babe?" asks the male half of the excessively happy couple, smiling at his female companion as they near the counter.

The woman smiles back. "Not yet, hon. I'm still deciding between a cappuccino or a light cappuccino. The light isn't as yummy, but a girl's got to watch her figure, you know."

The man laughs and shakes his head. "You don't need to watch your figure, baby. You're beautiful. You're the most beautiful woman in the whole world."

Jack rolls his eyes. The woman is pretty, but she is hardly the most beautiful woman in the world. He would (maybe) give that title to a certain comedy writer who has more brains than these two combined.

"And you're the most handsome man in the world," the woman says, slinging her arm around the man's waist.

"Love you, baby," the man says.

"Love you too," the woman echoes. They share another goofy grin, followed by a lengthy kiss.

"Yechh," Liz comments. She's just taken a sip of her modified tea, so Jack can't be sure what she's referring to.

"What's wrong_, darling_?" he asks, a saccharine smile on his face. In case she hasn't been paying attention, he jerks his head towards the couple at the counter.

She grins, eager to play the game. "I'm afraid this tea is making me fat, _sweetheart_."

"Relax, _my love_, nothing could ever spoil your perfection."

"Gosh, I'm just the luckiest," she says gleefully. A moment later, she frowns. "I think we should stop. I kind of feel like throwing up."

He winces. "Yes, likewise. That reminds me. I meant to ask, did you…? This morning?"

"Yeah, unfortunately. I mean, they say five to twelve weeks. It's been, what, eight?" she sighs.

He covers her hand with his own. "Hang in there. It'll be worth it."

"Yeah, easy for you to say. You're not the one barfing your guts out everyday," she grumbles.

Jack winces. "Lovely."

"Fine, it's not all bad. I haven't started getting fat yet. Well, except in my boobs."

He studies her chest, unable to really tell through her thick sweater, and is merely reminded that they've been unable to have sex lately. They are both to blame for being so busy, but he makes a mental note to wrap things up early tonight at work.

"You won't 'get fat', Lemon. You're growing a baby, which is hardly a disorder. Though you do eat like that of an obese person."

"Maybe I'm just eating for two, Jack."

"Yes, in that case, two obese people. I admit that it's one of the things that I love about you, though."

"Aww. That's sweet. Can I have your muffin?"

…

Daffodils appear at the corner grocers, and Jack trades his dark navy ties for…light navy ties. Soon, the last week of April is upon them, and Liz begins freaking out.

"Why did we think a May wedding was a good idea?" she says, ripping the seal off of the light pink bakery box. Despite her words, her actions indicate that she does not have an issue with sampling wedding cakes.

"Lemon, relax. It will merely be us and a couple of friends in front of a priest. Not a big deal, and exactly as we planned."

"That was before _your mother_ decided to get involved." Liz stuffs a petit four into her mouth.

"I tried to tell her at the last minute, but Colleen is psychic, Lemon. She called, and I couldn't very well keep it from her!"

He takes a bite of cake, frowning.

Liz swallows. "Yes, well, now she's arranging florists and caterers and—"

"At least she approves of you. Our lives could be made much more difficult than they are."

"Yeah, I'm so glad that I'm allowed to marry you, Jack," she grumbles, and reaches for another pastry.

"You should slow down. You have to fit into your dress—"

"And tuxes are one size fits all, right? Shut up, Jack."

…

"Jack, I have something to tell you."

"Enlighten me, Lemon."

"Okay. I'm telling you that I have written my last book."

"Haven't you only written one?"

"Actually, I just finished the second _Dealbreakers_ book. So that's two."

"I'll bite. Why is this the last one?"

"Because I don't want to write any more books."

"I see. Again, why?"

"Because I don't need to."

"Of course you don't need to. Money certainly isn't an issue now—"

"No, that's not what I mean, Jack. I'm trying to say that it doesn't make sense for me to write anymore books that focus on ending relationships. Because I've found my own. A good one, that I don't want to end."

"So you no longer need to project your bitterness into the literary world. Is that what you are implying?"

"Well, that sounds mean, but yeah. Pretty much."

"I'm proud of you, Lemon."

"You're just happy that I can't insult you by writing you into my books anymore."

…

They sit on a bench in Central Park, a cup of coffee in Jack's hands, a cup of tea in Liz's, and a cinnamon roll between them. Jack's plastic fork spars with hers as they heatedly debate over the rights to the gooey center of the pastry. Just as he is deciding to allow her to have the best bite, the flood gates open and a torrent of rain pours down from the skies onto the unsuspecting couple.

Jack shouts out and Liz gasps, their cinnamon roll melting instantaneously between them. He leaps up and tosses out their cups and the rest of their trash, cursing under his breath at the abrupt change in weather.

"What the hell!" Liz whines, holding her arms around herself. "I have a budget meeting upstairs that I can't be wet for, and I don't have time to change."

If there wasn't rain pouring all around them, he would stop and stare at her until she realized how she sounded, but there is no time. Shrugging off his jacket, he drapes it over her head and slips an arm around her waist, guiding her forward.

"I can't really stop the rain, Lemon," he shouts over the noise as he propels her towards the waiting town car.

The traffic conspires against them and they are forced to wait as a steady stream of cars rush by before they can cross the street.

"This sucks," Liz grumbles.

Jack points out, "You could have brought an umbrella…"

"No, I'm kind of just mad about the cinnamon roll. I wanted to eat it."

Jack looks over at her, her face in a childish pout, her hair drenched and clinging to her head. He watches as the spring rain drips down her face, following the line of her nose and down to her lips. When she stomps her foot, he laughs and reaches out to drag her into his arms. One of his hands moves to her face, pushing the wet hair out of her eyes.

There isn't much that is soft or gentle about his kiss as he presses his lips to hers, but he keeps his mouth closed for the six seconds that he holds her against him. This turns out to be a bit of a challenge, because he is pretty distracted by her soaking blouse.

When he releases her, she steps back, astonished and flushed.

"What was that for?" She breathes, the rain forgotten.

He shrugs. "You are cute when you're angry."

Even though he's said in the past that she's too old to be cute, she seems to accept this answer.

…

"Jack, come on, just try one."

"No."

"Please?"

"Even I draw the line somewhere, Lemon."

"You have to. It's Easter!"

"Again, no. And you don't celebrate Easter."

"Well, they're not just for Easter, Jack. They're for…spring."

"Forget it."

"Aright, fine. I don't care."

"And I don't think you should be eating those. The sugar coating alone is probably giving the fetus heart palpitations."

"Can't you just say 'baby'? 'Fetus' is weird."

"Why? It's a perfectly accurate term."

"Whatever. Are you sure you don't want one?"

"Lemon, I'm not going to eat Peeps."

"More for me."

…


	5. May

_May_

…

"What's everyone doing out here?" Jenna asks the men gathered around the TGS food station.

Toofer and Pete look guiltily toward her as if they've just been caught. Frank, however, easily spills the beans.

"We're hiding from Liz. She's in one of her, you know," Frank shrugs before pulling up the air quotes, "_Moods_."

"I fail to see how this is unusual, gentlemen," Jenna sniffs. She's been known to act bitter whenever someone else gets more attention than her. Liz, for obvious reasons, is that someone.

"Yeah, but things are even worse today," Toofer says in a loud whisper, as he looks around him to ensure the coast was clear. "Apparently, she and Jack have been fighting over the baby's name."

"But they don't even know the sex of the child yet! Otherwise, I would know," says Jenna incredulously.

"The baby's nickname," Pete clarifies. "Liz calls it, you know," he says, pointing at his abdomen while making a gesture for a pregnant belly, "'the baby,' but Jack insists that, you know," he says, repeating the gesture, "it's just a fetus in development. So he calls it 'the fetus.'"

Jenna rolls her eyes. She believes they should just call it 'Jenna', of course. And if it's a boy…well. 'Jenna' could still work. You never know.

"Nice to see you all working," Liz says, surprising the group with her presence. She puts her hands on her hips, and everyone's eyes immediately move to her slightly protruding midsection.

"Liz, hi! How are those hormones treating you there?" Jenna asks eagerly.

Liz glares at her friend while the group attempts to hide behind the only woman brave enough to address the expectant mother.

"Why are you all staring at me? I believe you should be at rehearsal," Liz snaps.

"We're going, we're going…" they grumble.

Liz turns to pour some stupid decaf coffee, and feels the blonde's eyes on her.

"Liz, are you alright?" Jenna asks softly.

"I'm fine," she spits as she slams the coffee pot back down on the counter.

"Ooookay. Here's the cream," Jenna says, passing her the container.

The angry expression on Liz's face crumples, leaving Jenna completely off guard.

"Oh, Liz, don't cry," Jenna says as she engulfs her friend in a hug.

Liz continues to sob as they embrace. "I don't deserve a friend like you, Jenna."

"Aww, Liz," Jenna soothes. "It was just cream."

"But you know things, like the fact I like cream in my coffee. You're just… a really awesome friend," Liz says sincerely as she pulls back from their hug to wipe the tears from her face.

"Thank you, I just got it cut!" Jenna fluffs her hair.

Liz turns back to the counter and looks at her cup of coffee before pouring the cream into it. "Jenna?"

"What?"

"I really hate decaf," she manages, before setting down the cream to burst into tears.

…

"Lemon, are you ready? We'll be late for the party," Jack calls from the living room.

This is not the first of Hank Hooper's birthday parties that Jack's attended, but it will be the first time he presents his relationship with Liz to his boss. It is important to make a good impression; possibly, their future at the company depends on it.

"Almost!" She calls back. Liz is having a hard time trying to zip up her dress. She's been putting off shopping for maternity clothes as long as possible, but lately, finding clothes of hers that still fit is becoming a big problem. "Jack?"

"Yes?" He answers, walking into the bedroom.

"Can you help me with my dress, please?" Her head pops out of the bathroom. "I can't zip it up."

"Sure."

Jack steps into the room and glances at the pile of rejected dresses lying on the bed.

"Having trouble with the clothing?" He asks amusedly, nodding at the messy bed.

"I need to buy new clothes," she sighs. "The only pants that fit me are sweats. I'm huge."

"You're not huge," Jack soothes.

He eyes her up and down before he can help himself; after all, she is practically bursting out the top of her dress. Her bump is showing, but not enough to be the reason that the dress doesn't fit.

"You look fine. Just leave the back unzipped, and wear a jacket," he says matter-of-factly, trying not to ogle.

"I guess that would work," she mumbles, and looks in the mirror. "Look at my boobs, Jack… No wonder I'm having a hard time trying to zip up this dress!"

Liz purses her lips disapprovingly while he "looks".

"Hmm. Perhaps you should change. It's probably not a good idea to hit Hank with everything at once," he says in a strangled tone.

"This sucks."

Jack ignores her, and moves to slide one of her straps down. She gasps, but doesn't protest when he begins kissing her neck and muttering.

"Hank will have another party next year, Lemon."

…

Life has its ups and downs, but for Jack, there isn't a word in the English dictionary that is strong enough to describe the hate that accompanies the process of dealing with his ex-wives.

On a sunny spring afternoon, he kisses Avery on the cheek out of politeness. The café's hostess hands them menus, then exits.

"Thanks for coming, Jack," she says lightly.

They sit.

"What do you want, Avery?" Jack's tone is direct, but not angry.

"Good to see you, too. You look well."

Avery smiles, amused at his obvious discomfort.

"I came back to tie up some loose ends."

"I'm hardly a loose end."

"I didn't say you were."

She traces a finger along the leather menu. Jack is not in the mood for small talk, and he hopes she gets right to the point. He is getting married tomorrow, and wants this over with.

"Jack, I've been thinking and...I realize I sent you some mixed signals. I shouldn't have married you so quickly, knowing how you felt about commitments…" She straightens the silverware in front of her. "Anyway, I have taken a position in Philadelphia, which is only an hour away by plane and I just thought...maybe we could start over."

Jack looks out the window, half-expecting to see Elisa strolling up with a pair of tickets to Puerto Rico. He's almost angry at Avery's nerve, until he realizes that he doesn't care enough to be angry.

"Avery," he says, turning back to look at her, "There is nothing to start over. We are divorced."

"Oh." She nods her magnificent blond head down at the table again. "Have you met someone else?"

"That's not the point." It isn't. The choice isn't between Avery and Liz; it never was. That had been his mistake before; thinking he had to choose between the two, when the real choice was to stop fooling himself or not. Even if the last few months had never happened, even if he and Liz had never gotten their mutual act together, he would still be looking at Avery and telling her no. Because he'd rather be alone than be with someone he didn't love enough.

"Well," Avery says, fussing with her purse. "I guess there's not much point in sticking around for lunch, is there?"

"I suppose not."

She pauses.

"Jack?"

"Yes?"

"I…it's Liz, isn't it?"

He sighs. "It isn't really your business, Avery, but yes."

She nods to herself. On some level, she's always known. It still hurts, though.

…

"Nice to see you've finally put that baby bucket to use, Liz."

"Hi, Colleen. So glad you could make it," Liz says cheerfully, kissing her future mother-in-law on the cheek.

At seven AM on the dot, Jack's mother has arrived with the usual bang, entering their apartment with a trail of help behind her: two nervous bellboys, a cab driver in a foul mood ("That luggage is Vuitton, darling, do not _drag_ it,") and the wedding planner, a young woman named Alana.

"Mother, please, don't start." He waves the party into the apartment, and Colleen promptly begins pinching Liz's face in various places, muttering not-so-quietly about how Liz could use a good chemical peel.

"Good morning, everyone. The flowers are being finished as we speak, thank God." Alana presses a finger to the device in her ear. "Oh, the caterers have just arrived, and Liz, your prep team is on the way over here. Now is the time to finish your morning routine, if you so desire."

Liz opens her mouth to ask exactly what she is in for, when Colleen gets a devious look on her face.

"I will help Liz get ready," she announces.

With surprising strength, Colleen drags Liz (who mouths '_help me_') to the bedroom.

…

She is radiant.

There is a roomful of people, but for Jack, there is only her.

Chestnut hair arranged in a glossy chignon. Soft tendrils cascading around her face.

A white dress that flows over her curves, accentuating her bump.

Tightly holding a bouquet of white lilies; nervous, but not afraid.

Finally, the gold 'L' charm around her neck.

A few more minutes, and she is in his arms. Jack supposes that the priest is saying something, but he barely pays attention until the important part. They say their _I dos_, and he bends Elizabeth Lemon-Donaghy backward into a sweeping kiss. Her smile mirrors his own.

…

A beaming (and slightly intoxicated) Jenna steps up onto the platform with the band. She silences the chatty wedding guests with an enthusiastic clink of her glass, and opens her mouth.

"Welcome, guests of the Liz-slash-Jack wedding that we've waited for so long. I know, I know, it's usually the best man who gives these speeches, but, well, Kenneth just sucks at public speaking."

A cheerful "Hey!" is heard from across the room as Kenneth unconvincingly fakes offense.

"...And I'm way more charismatic." She smiles even bigger before continuing on a different note. "This weirdness kind of fits, in a way. Because let's face it, Jack and Liz have never had a normal relationship. Sure, it was full of subtle touches, midnight takeout, and 'budget meetings'." She briefly takes her hands off her champagne glass and sets it on the table next to her to make air-quotes. "That's right, don't think I don't know."

Jack and Liz laugh quietly and grasp the other's hand tighter, silently agreeing to block Jenna's access to the security room.

The blond shifts on her heels, and continues, "And let us not forget the eye sex..."

"Jenna," Liz says warningly. Her friend is clearly a little drunk. She could say anything and everything.

"Sorry," she says, before turning her attention back to the wedding attendees.

"But these two have gone to amazing lengths for each other, despite Liz's laziness. Jack, may you and my best friend have a very long and happy marriage."

Jenna raises her glass in a toast to the bride and groom and drains it expertly. Jack signals to the band, and Jenna is whisked away from the stage to save them all from having to hear her sing.

…

"Jack!" Liz half-gasps, half-giggles. "You're gonna drop me."

"You know I'm not."

"Well, I've been wrong before," Liz says, rolling her eyes.

Jack smirks as he crosses the threshold into their ridiculously expensive hotel room. "Oh, believe me," he says sultrily, a hand caressing the back of her thigh and inching under her gauzy dress. "You are not wrong tonight."

Liz's head spins. She can't really say it's due to alcohol, because she hasn't had more than a sip of champagne at the reception. What she can attest to is the heat between her thighs and her skyrocketing arousal.

Jack carries her through the dim rooms, finally reaching the master suite. He lays her gently on the bed, where she immediately rids her aching feet of the four-inch stilettos. When she sits back, Liz's dress extends around her, giving Jack the impression of a beautiful white flower.

"I'm almost ready," she begins with a smile, inviting his curiosity.

"Almost?"

It takes some effort for her to shift on the bed until her back is to him. His eyes comb over the intricate lace ties that support the tight bodice, and he slowly lets out a breath. One dark lock has escaped from its elegant twist, and Jack lifts it delicately around to her front, letting his fingertips linger at the nape of her neck. Liz shivers involuntarily and must work to keep her voice even.

"Yep. I can't breathe. Will you, um, help me out of this thing?"

"Of course."

He starts upon the ties, taking his time. He wants to cherish this. The wait is painful for him, but in a good way. There is no need to rush what is yet to come. His new wife seems to understand; the room holds no sound besides their breathing, for she sits entirely still during his movements.

When he pulls the last ribbon, her breath hitches in her throat as the fabric relaxes slightly around her torso. She turns back around, and the stiff material clings loosely to her curves. He reaches out and she nods, allowing him to lift the gown over her head. He delivers it to the chair in the corner, laying it with the same care that he had given its owner.

When he returns to the bed, Liz is waiting in a tasteful set of cream-colored lingerie. She's pulled the pins from her hair, and the curls have arranged themselves in their usual bob. This familiar image calms Jack, and he deftly removes his tuxedo after allowing her to undo his bow tie.

"I love you, Lemon," he says.

"I love you too, Jack."

Once he is settled on the bed, he presses a tiny kiss to her gently rounded stomach, and she enjoys the tingle that arises at the touch of his lips. He pauses to take her in, considering the subtle yet apparent changes in Liz's body. Tonight, he is making love to his wife, but it is the hope and promise that she carries in her womb that makes the situation impossibly special.

His hands roam over her marginally widened hips; his lips brush her enlarged breasts. She moans quietly at his entrance, giving into louder cries as he thrusts inside her. This time, collapsing is simultaneous, and the action completes their unity. They sigh together, whispering remarks of adoration. The night has exceeded their wildest thoughts, and they slide into sleep without difficulty.

Every now and then, it's okay to hold fast to dreams.

…

The newlyweds decide that a honeymoon is pointless (they are, after all, married to their jobs first), and they return to work after a weekend off. Several days later, the wedding is all but forgotten when they remember that a baby is coming.

"So… that name's off the list, right?" Liz says over the dinner table. A newspaper and yellow memo pad sit in front of her, and she tries not to get pizza on them.

"Very much so, Lemon."

"From what I got reading this article, naming your daughter 'Tracy' automatically increases the likelihood that she'll become a hooker."

"Lemon, the way a child is raised and nurtured in this world has more to do with their eventual career path and life decisions. Just because most of the prostitutes involved in this case were named Tracy, doesn't mean all children named Tracy will become prostitutes. Furthermore, the New York Times is hardly a reliable news source." He takes a sip of scotch.

"Fifteen."

"What?"

"Fifteen prostitutes all named Tracy. And here, two women named 'Candi.' Candi with an 'I'."

"Did you hear what I said?"

Liz rolls her eyes. "Yes, I'm ignoring it. Hold on, let me find this bit…okay, here. Penelope is sort of the odd one out; her name is different. Nonetheless, Penelope is off the list too."

"Was Penelope ever on the list of names we were considering for her?" he asks, nodding toward his wife's abdomen.

"Yes…I'm more concerned about the fact that Tracy is on this list."

"How _did_ Tracy get on the list?"

"I believe it was added by…Tracy. He must have found it the other day."

"I see."

She takes a bite of pizza, and chews thoughtfully while she consults the list. "That leaves us with Jacklyn, Elizabeth II, Leia, and Alice."

"Obviously, I'm favorable towards the first one. But I quite like 'Alice'."

"Wait, really? That's my favorite one."

Jack smiles, considering. "Yes. I think it would suit her nicely."

"Oh my god, did we just name our kid?"

"Don't act so surprised. We often agree, Lemon."

She looks down at the pizza in the box: half-extra-cheese, half-pepperoni.

"Dream on, Jack."

…

Sometimes, when you love, the words are not nearly as important as the actions.

She's curled into his body, back-to-chest, his arm wrapped around her and his large, warm hand resting protectively across her slightly rounded stomach. There is no movement, save the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes rhythmically in the early morning light, but he knows from experience that sometime soon he will feel an answering push from inside as he rubs soft circles from without. That thought, that milestone to look forward to, serves to ease the slight tension he can feel between his shoulder blades when lets himself worry about the future.

He starts to think that he'll be able to raise a child. Truly, he has learned from his parents' mistakes, and of course, his own. Some paternal instinct is at play, and he realizes that he _wants_ to raise a child for reasons outside of making his wife happy. He can picture himself holding a baby girl, holding their baby girl, and it seems right. Suddenly, he cannot wait to meet his daughter.

In her sleep, she sighs and turns her body slightly outward, her shoulder brushing his chin as he holds her close. He smiles into her hair and returns to his absent caress of her abdomen.

While in another time, another place, with another woman he wouldn't have been satisfied with such limitations, this moment is not an impediment to what he's always thought he wanted and needed. It's true and comfortable and real.

And it's a freedom unlike any he's never known.

…


	6. June

_June_

…

On one morning in late spring, a couple brushes their teeth side by side.

"You wanna meet for lunch?" Jack says before spitting out into his sink.

Liz does the same, and thinks of a suggestion. "How about that popcorn place in midtown? I haven't been in ages."

His face twists while he rinses. "Lemon, really?"

She wipes her face with a soft 'Hers' towel, and turns off the tap.

"If you don't wanna go, whatever. I will experience the magic by myself."

"Don't be silly."

"Come on, I'm pregnant," she wheedles.

"Are you, now?"

"Very funny," she says, and turns to the mirror to pop in her contacts. Jack sets down his towel, and they exit the bathroom.

"Fine," he sighs.

"You'll come?"

"Yes. I'll go to your ridiculous popcorn eatery. If you can even call it that."

She, and him. The morning is so breathtakingly wonderful in its ordinariness.

Before they begin breakfast he grabs her by her waist, pulling her close. These days she feels heavier in his arms, and Jack enjoys it immensely.

"Good morning," he says lowly, pecking her lips.

"You hate mornings, Jack."

But her arms wrap themselves around his back, and she buries her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. He smells like intimacy in the morning, still warm from sleep.

"Have I told you lately how wonderful you feel?" he murmurs, showering her neck with kisses.

He shifts his lips onto hers, savoring the taste of her. The kiss is slow, tentative; a nice part of their morning routine. He slips his fingers under her empire-waist blouse to feel the smooth alabaster skin at her hip.

But she pulls away when she spots the awesome-looking box of donuts on the table.

…

"Are you sure you don't want any help?" Liz asks warily from the door, her hands clasped under her tummy.

"Yes, Lemon, I'm doing just fine," Jack answers, refusing to tear his eyes away from his work. It shouldn't be this hard, really.

They'd decided to hire professionals to deal with the walls of the new nursery, but oddly, Jack wanted to deal with the furniture himself.

"You don't seem to be doing that fine." She arches her eyebrows. "You've been trying to assemble that crib for the past two hours and it looks like nothing's improved since the last time I came here to check."

Jack curses under his breath, inadvertently proving her point.

"Why aren't you looking at the manual?"

"It's a GE crib, Lemon. I practically wrote the manual. Although they seem to have made a few changes since…" he curses again.

She ignores him and steps into the room, appraising the walls. The nursery is almost all set, quite an accomplishment since they started it less than a month ago.

"It's beautiful, Jack."

It really is. The walls are a soft blue, with pale yellow stars painted on the ceiling. Two large windows offer a lovely view of the park, and soon, billowy white curtains will hang in them.

He pauses in his task, and looks up at her. The fading afternoon light casts shadows around the room, but Liz is truly glowing with her pregnancy.

"You're right, Lemon. It is."

…

The door to the apartment opens silently. Her heels click on the hardwood floor of the long hallway as she turns and quietly shuts the door, locking it carefully. She steps into the living room, tossing her thin jacket over the chair before turning to walk down the hall towards the bedroom.

She steps lightly through the door to the bedroom, stopping at the foot of the bed to remove her shoes, dress and jewelry. Slipping on only a thin silk robe, she climbs into bed and slides close to his sleeping form. He doesn't always stay up to watch the show (especially if he's had a long day). It is common for her to wake him in the wee hours of Sunday morning, though. Pregnancy will do that to a woman.

"Do you love me?" she asks.

He can only give her honesty. "Yes. How was the show?"

Lately, she's had no patience for hedging, and so cuts right to the chase. "Fine. Do you want to do stuff?"

"Depends what you had in mind." He is awake now, and his eyebrows slide up, interested. Always interested in whatever she has to offer.

"Um, the usual, I guess. If you're not too sleepy."

In response, his hand slides down her torso to her tummy. "How are you both feeling tonight? Good?"

She sighs. "I'm more tired than I used to be, but weirdly energized. I'm glad to be home."

He smiles and leans up to capture her lips in a soft kiss. "I'm glad you're home too, Lemon."

It is almost noon, when they stir again, the sun tickling their faces.

Her naked body is warm and pliant in his arms, and Jack watches her struggle with sleepiness for a few blissful minutes. He always appreciates a well-made-up woman, but first thing in the morning, so unguarded... this is how he likes her best. Her face with hints of last night's make-up; her dark hair tousled, her cheeks rosy from sleep. There is something so heart-crushingly innocent about a drowsy Liz, something he can't really explain.

The birds have long been singing their morning arias, and Jack moves his palm under her robe to touch bare belly. Suddenly, Liz is wide-awake, and she studies him studying her. He looks so devoted, so blissful, and she smiles invitingly.

Using his free hand, Jack loosens the tie of her robe, his hand roaming over silky white skin. He slowly traces her form, savoring the fullness of her breasts; the heaviness of her hips.

His mouth captures her rosy lips, and Liz is sure that she will never get enough of the sensation of his soft tongue in her mouth, of the responses her body makes in his arms. His hand slid down her sides, skimming her stomach before settling on her hip.

"I can feel the difference," he murmurs between kisses, and she chuckles.

"Are you implying that I'm fat?"

"Hmm. Let me feel again."

His fingers tickle over her soft skin, setting her ablaze, and desire pools deep inside of her. She has just had him last night, slowly and sensually, but Liz craves it again. Only a few months ago had her doctor warned about an increased sexual appetite, but no one in the Lemon-Donaghy household is complaining yet.

His hands on her become the center of the world, and he gently palms her swollen breasts, careful to avoid hurting the sensitive mounds.

Just when he lowers his head to suck one very sensitive peak, "Ride of the Valkyries" interrupts her sweet ache.

"Nooooo," she groans, and his head falls to her shoulder with a gasp.

"Agreed."

"I'm not answering it. It's Sunday."

He sighs. "Regardless, I believe this what one considers a "shattered mood."

"Blerg."

…

"So, I've been wondering about something…" Jenna begins, watching her best friend making herself a sandwich at crafts services.

"What's that?" Liz asks distractedly as she carefully layers some cheese.

"What do you call Jack?" Jenna asks, unable to hide a grin.

Liz gives her a patented 'Are you stupid?' look and asks, "Is that supposed to be a joke question?"

"No."

"I call Jack 'Jack,'" she says, biting into the sandwich.

"Not just when you're working or talking or whatever. I mean, when you're, you know, in the throws of passion."

"Ugh, Jenna. You know I don't discuss details."

"I'm not asking for measurements or a performance report. Although…" Liz gives her a pointed stare and Jenna raises her hands in concession.

"Come on Liz, just give me a little something to work with for my imagination."

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with you imagining what you want to imagine. And besides, why would I call Jack something other than Jack when we're in bed?"

"Well, he has another name for you. Do you ever call him 'Donaghy'?"

Liz makes a face. "No. That would like him calling me Elizabeth. It's just…wrong."

"What's wrong?" says the man in question, exiting the elevator.

"Jenna wants to know if I'm ever inclined to call you by your last name."

"Oh, God… please, don't start doing that," he responds, and she giggles at the nearly horrified look on his face.

"It's cute," Jenna says, in an attempt to lighten the mood. "You don't call her 'Elizabeth', or even 'Liz', and she doesn't call you 'Donaghy'," she says, pointing at them respectively.

"I don't believe it was a decision of recent consequence, but your conclusion is correct," Jack says.

"So, in bed, you're just 'Jack and Lemon?'" Jenna states, and Jack's face twitches.

Liz sees the twitch too and rolls her eyes. "Come on…" Jenna prods.

"He may…" Liz starts with a huff. "From time to time, he calls me 'baby.'"

Jenna lets out a shocked squeak. "And you let him get away with that?"

"She's usually a little too busy thanking God to call me on it."

"JACK!" Liz shouts, smacking his shoulder. He winces at the tiny mustard stain that is left behind.

"Lemon, don't be a prude."

"Yes, because it's my being _prudish_ that has gotten us so far," she says sarcastically, gently poking her abdomen. They continue to banter on their way to Liz's office, unaware of all that they've given Jenna to work with over the summer hiatus.

…


	7. July

_July_

…

Liz used to wonder if it is possible that there really is someone for everyone.

What is it like to wake up next to him, summer sun streaming through the windows? What is it like to hold hands with him? To rub his back when it is sore? What does it feel like when the outside of his hips press between her inner thighs? Or when his hands cup her bottom? How does it feel when he slides his warm palms over her rounded belly? What does it sound like, the slight hitch in his breath before he loses control?

It feels wonderful.

She no longer doubts herself, or him.

…

Liz sits at her desk as she watches her publicist and the television producer arrange the seating area of her office. She fans herself with a newspaper, cursing maintenance for the weak air conditioning. While the two quietly argue, Liz wonders again why she's agreed to this television interview. At the same time, she's fascinated by how the crew is managing to 'Extreme-Makeover' the hell out of her little couch area. Her office already looks a million times nicer, and all they've done is throw some paint on the walls.

TV really is magical.

Liz leans back in her desk chair and allows her thoughts to wander while her hand drifts to her baby bump. At five months pregnant, the bump is certainly obvious, but she appreciates the physical evidence of her impending motherhood.

July has been hectic. Jenna and Paul got hitched on the TGS stage, which Jenna insisted on. Unfortunately, there was the added craziness of the whole studio being under constriction; it was summer hiatus, after all. It all worked out, though, and in between the wedding, Liz was able to prepare for promoting her newest (but definitely her last) novel.

When her publicist had arrived at their penthouse on a Saturday in April, the woman was surprised when the head of NBC answered the door and welcomed her inside. It was Kathryn's first visit with Ms. Lemon in her home, and she'd barely believed that the provided address was legitimate. However, she knew who Jack Donaghy was, and had shaken hands with him eagerly.

As Jack led an impressed Kathryn into the spacious living room, he had a rueful look on his face.

"I must apologize; Lemon is, ah…well, she's not…"

Unfortunately, before he was able to finish, the sound of someone being sick came from the back of the apartment, and Jack left the room. The woman sat patiently on the couch for a few minutes, uncertain if she had been forgotten. Before she could decide if she should leave or not, she could hear bantering voices as they approached the room.

"Jack, stop worrying. This morning's nausea is no worse than any other morning. Morning sickness is a perfectly normal part of pregnancy," came Liz's voice.

"Yes, shall we talk about this later? I'm not sure you're up for it, but your publicist is here."

"Obviously, Jack. I have a meeting scheduled with her and I heard you let her in. I'm pregnant, not deaf."

At this, the couple entered the living room. Kathryn grinned at Liz and offered, "I suppose congratulations are in order, Ms. Lemon."

Liz smiled. "Thank you. And thanks for coming." With that, the meeting to discuss book signings, interviews and other promotional related events had begun.

And three months later, here she is. Liz hates to admit it, but she's nervous about this interview. Although her acting skills have improved since the disastrous _Dealbreakers_ talk show situation, she doesn't appreciate being reminded of an event where she had so clearly failed. She considers escaping through a window or vent, but then figures that it's not an option in her condition. Regardless, she tries to think of ideas. A makeup artist dabs highlighter on her cheeks, and her floral-patterned silk dress is straightened. She's out of stalling time when Kathryn calls her.

"Elizabeth? I believe we're ready to begin."

"Oh, um, okay."

Liz stands and moves toward where Kathryn has been arguing with the television producer. A perky woman with long, brown hair stands next to the producer, and she's introduced to Liz as Joan Callamezzo, the journalist who will conduct the interview. Liz resists the urge to make a comment, but really. The woman's boobs are _enormous_. She wishes for a moment that they'd gotten someone more…intelligent looking, but then she remembers what her book is about. And anyways, she'll look smarter in comparison, right? Right.

"Welcome back to _Pawnee Today: Joan Takes Manhattan. _I'm your literary tastemaker, Joan Callamezzo, and with me today is author Elizabeth Lemon. We'll be discussing the latest book to receive the 'Joan's Book Club' stamp of approval. Ms. Lemon's second novel, _Dealbreakers: Shut It Down,_ hits shelves this Thursday. My, Elizabeth, you look exhausted. How are you doing today?"

Liz is seething at the ridiculous intro, but she answers smoothly.

"You know, I'm, uh, hanging in there."

Well, it sounded smooth in her head.

"Great! So, what do you have to say about the recent study that proves there is a drop in the intelligence of pregnant women as they get further along?"

Liz cringes. It's going to be a long day.

…

That evening, they sit on the couch and he rubs her feet. "How did the interview go?"

She shrugs and stretches. "I think it sucked. I may have been delirious from the heat, but yeah. I'm pretty sure it sucked."

"I wish I'd taped it," he says with a squeeze to her left arch.

"Be glad you didn't," she says, frowning. "Oh, I got your message. Do you really have to go to L.A. this week?"

He rubs tight circles on the ball of her foot. "Yes, unfortunately. I have to meet with the quacks at West Coast Programming about fall scheduling. It's only for two days, though."

"Well, I'll ride to the airport with you, if you want. I don't really have much going on," she says gloomily.

"Oh, Lemon, cheer up. The first class lounge is quite nice; I'll show you around if you wish."

She pokes him in the ribs with her toes. "If we leave by two we'll be there in time for dinner, if the traffic's good."

He grins at her. "Far be it for me to postpone your feeding schedule." She jabs him with her toes again and he smirks. "God forbid I'm trapped in the car with a hungry pregnant woman." He slides a hand between his ribs and her foot before he continues, "And could you _be_ anymore fixated on food?"

She arches an eyebrow at him. "That's the worst Chandler impression I've ever heard."

He ducks his head and continues to rub her feet as she relaxes into the couch. She looks down her body, unable to help running her hands over the swell. She feels the moment Jack's hands abandon their healing pressures and take up a more sensual style. When she looks up at his face, she sees that darkened look she's come to expect from him. She still has trouble believing it, but her pregnancy _arouses_ him.

"You've been looking at me like that a lot lately."

"Like what?" he asks innocently.

"As if you could, I dunno...devour me."

He raises his eyebrows. "That's certainly one way to put it." But then his face grows serious and draws her attention back to his dilated pupils. "You're pregnant, Lemon, what can I say?"

Heat blooms through her and she brushes the side of one foot softly against his groin. He isn't completely hard, but she can feel the beginnings of an erection against her arch.

"Lemon," he groans, "what are you doing?"

She'd intended to toss him a flirty retort but instead ended up with a slight whine. "I can't help it when you look at me that way."

He doesn't answer, but his blue eyes harden just a fraction. He drops the foot he was holding and reaches up to push her shirt until it bunches up under her breasts, leaving her belly exposed. He lays a large, warm palm on her stomach, and doesn't move.

The skin beneath his hand tingles with awareness and her breathing becomes shallow, despite her attempts to maintain her composure. "Jack," she finally asks, "what are you doing?"

"Trying to feel the baby move."

"_I_ can't even feel the baby move yet." She shrugs. "But I should be able to feel it soon. And after me, you'll be the first to know."

They sit in silence for a few minutes, and she's about to proclaim that they're being ridiculous when it happens. Something inside of her flutters like the softest wing ever, and her whole universe shifts in a sweet moment of _oh_. Their baby is moving, Jack's eyes are widening, and even though it's irrational, Liz can't help but think that it is her daughter telling them, "I'm here." Next to Jack's hand, she pats her belly in response.

"I'm here as well, baby, waiting for you."

They share a smile, and she feels her mood change.

"I want to have sex," she says, feeling a little choked up. He looks at her confusedly, for her words don't exactly match her tearful tone.

"Do you have any idea what it feels like to have these hormones coursing through my body?" she clarifies.

"Obviously the answer to that question is 'no', Lemon. But I know what it's like to be in a constant state of arousal. I _was_ a teenage boy once."

With that, he captures her mouth in a lustful kiss, and they nearly topple off the couch.

…

"Uh…wow," Pete says as his eyes scan the TGS sound stage. On a normal day, the area boasts an industrial color palette: black electrical equipment, gray construction tools; naked sets.

But not today.

Today, pink streamers hang from the lighting fixtures. Pink balloons are tied to the director's chairs. Pink tablecloths cover a long table in the center of the room and a smaller table off to the side. On the center of the long table is a pink vase filled with pink flowers. The small table holds a pink cake, pink plates and forks, a pitcher of pink lemonade, and pink cups.

Jenna, who has been hanging a pink "It's A Girl!" banner on the wall, turns at the sound of Pete's voice. "What do you think?"

Pete knows Jenna is looking for a compliment, but none of the first five words that spring to his mind—gaudy, tacky, excessive, over-the-top, nauseating—can be considered complimentary. "It looks…pink."

Jenna rolls her eyes. "Duh, Pete. Liz is having a _girl_."

He can't wait to see his feminist friend's reaction.

"Yes, she is," Pete says instead, forcing a smile. "Jenna, I'm kinda surprised that you did all this work, to be honest."

"It was a labor of love," Jenna gushes. She has already decided to take all of the credit, even though her involvement begins and ends with hanging a single banner.

"Right." Pete doubts that this is true, but decides to let it go.

Approximately ten minutes later, the writers, a few crew members (it _is_ summer vacation), Paul, Hazel, and Kenneth are all assembled in the lounge. Liz and Jack arrive soon after, and Liz's complaints are audible even from the hallway.

"Jack, what the hell? I don't see what you had to do here that's so important—!"

They turn the corner, and Liz cuts herself off.

"What are you all doing here?" she asks, surprised to see most of her show's employees. Her eyes widen as she takes in the new decor. "And what happened to the stage?"

Jenna beams. "We're here to give you a baby shower, Liz! I decorated," she says with pride. "Doesn't it look amazing?"

"It looks…pink," Liz replied, biting back a laugh. Or a groan. She doesn't really know.

Then she notices the gifts stacked in a corner of the lounge. "Presents, yay!"

Jack smiles at her childlike glee, and everyone sits down at the center table.

"Liz, can I rub your tummy?" Hazel asks, wide-eyed.

"Weird choice of words, Hazel."

"Sorry. But it's just so amazing, what you're growing, inside you…not to mention _sexy,_ and—"

"—Enough, Hazel," Liz interrupts. "The stomach is off limits," she says loudly. She's feeling kind of cranky from the heat, and wants to speed through this event as fast as possible.

Jenna hands Liz a large box decorated with pink wrapping paper and a pink bow.

"Thanks, Jenna." She hopes that didn't sound too harsh, and quickly tears off the wrappings to reveal a soft stuffed animal.

It appears to be a cross between a seal and a unicorn.

"Um…what is it?" she asks, holding it up.

Jenna smiles.

"It's a narwhal, Liz. It's only the most dangerous and majestic of all sea creatures."

"Yeeeah. Okay," Liz says. But she squeezes the cute little toy once more, and can't help smiling.

Everyone is surprised when Frank is the next to volunteer a gift. She carefully unwraps and opens the box, revealing a tiny yellow hat that bears the words 'WORTH THE WAIT' in black block letters.

"Wow," mutters Jack beside her. He's not sure what to make of this.

Liz studies the miniature hat for a moment, and laughs. "Frank, this is perfect."

"Whatever," he says.

But he knows that his present is the best.

…

He calls her the second night he's in LA, around twelve thirty. He sounds weary and she feels bad for insisting he call.

"How was LA today?"

"Well, it's about a thousand degrees hotter here."

Liz is sitting directly in front of the air conditioner in their bedroom, and she says nothing for a moment while she enjoys the air that's tickling her face.

"That's hard to believe. I watched three people faint in the street today," she says.

"I see. What are you wearing?" he asks.

"Nothing," she says. She's mostly telling the truth. She was getting cold from the AC, so she put a thin robe on a few minutes before he called.

He swallows. "Nothing?"

"It's hot, Jack," she whines, a little overdramatically. At the moment, she can't honestly complain. She likes to know that she has an effect on him, though.

"I can imagine. How are you feeling otherwise?" he asks, purposefully changing the subject.

"Fine. I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine. Is it your back?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

"I know that. But I wish I were there. I'd rub it for you."

"I know. And thank you." She shifts on the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. "Did your meeting go okay?"

He sighs. "Yes. I should be out of here by Thursday."

"Wow, that's a short trip," she says.

"That glad to be rid of me, Lemon?"

"Of course not," she says, and is surprised to find a knot in her throat as tears gather in her eyes. She sucks in a deep breath.

"Dear God, Lemon, are you _crying_?"

"What?" she asks, swiping at her eyes. "No. Don't be dumb."

His voice takes on a teasing edge. "You _miss_ me," he chuckles. "I've been gone for less than forty-eight hours."

"I guess I've gotten used to having you around," she says noncommittally. Her attempt at casual is somewhat ruined by her sniffling.

"I love you too, you know. It occurs to me I didn't tell you that this evening while you were going on and on about the _heat_."

"I wasn't going on and on," she huffs.

"I beg to differ."

"And on that note, goodnight, Jack."

"Good night, Lemon. Try not to fall off the bed tonight."

"I love you, too," she returns.

…

She wears a black lace-trimmed dress. He recognizes it as the little Dolce & Gabbana number that he'd bought her around her birthday. In the few seconds it takes her to cross the terminal lobby, he has the time to admire the way the lace stretches across the luscious swell of her breasts; how delicate the fabric looks against her skin, pale even in July. (It's the German in her.) He commands his eyes to her face when she comes to a halt in front of the barrier.

"Welcome home," she smiles.

One of his hands finds its way to her curvy hip as she tilts her head to greet him with her lips. They kiss for a minute or so, until he pulls away to retrieve a present from his luggage.

"It's a…snow globe?"

"To keep you cool," he says.

"Where the heck did you find one of these in the middle of July?"

"Don't overthink it, Lemon."

"Thanks, Jack."

She sleeps in trusting abandonment, her skin warm silk, inviting and tempting; her breath sweet and slow. She knows he is there, a comforting presence in the enormous bed. It felt too empty while he was away.

Love is a verb. It's action, a doing word. Maybe it's used to describe two lost souls that found each other. Maybe they turned away from something and made themselves into something else. They trust and protect each other. And now, they love. They do not sit in wait. They take their fears, and in trust, they love. Because love is a doing word.

Jack is glad to be home.

…


	8. August

_**Author's Note: **__Yeah, yeah, I know they discuss Avengers, which came out in May 2012. Pretend it doesn't come out until August, yeah? Okay._

_August_

…

Liz finds it irritating how her belly has turned into a piece of public interest. It's fine when it's Jack or Jenna or whatever, but it's rather disturbing when the lady at Crumbs leans over the counter with an outstretched hand before a stern look from Liz is able to stop her last-minute.

Liz doesn't like that at all. But she still goes anyways because the cupcakes are so freaking good. She can even finish a Colossal Cupcake all by herself if she's in the mood.

She usually is.

But she still finds the physical attention annoying. On the other hand, what she does like is Jack's head resting near her tummy, telling his daughter about his day. The baby reacts to his voice, and very often a tiny movement inside of her follows his tales. Butterflies, a wave, wind, bubbles – she comes up with a lot of words to describe the fluttering sensation inside of her. She really can't get used to it, and probably won't.

Another beautiful thing, one she can't think about without warmth spreading out inside of her, is their lovemaking. Jack certainly has no problem with touching his pregnant woman in a sexual way, but, nonetheless, it's gotten different. Over the last few weeks it's changed simultaneously with her body. Since he can't lift her anymore, pinning her against a wall while pumping into her in a rhythm that leaves her without any coherent thought, they've settled on more conventional places and positions.

He makes her feel pretty as well. Liz has always been slender, and even though she's a well-educated woman who's always had a "decent set", she sometimes can't help but being a little insecure about her new curves. But Jack always knows what to say.

(Or, at least he thinks he does. Usually his words turn into those of seduction; however, she's usually okay with what comes next.)

…

In mid-August, the city maintains a quiet stillness. At least in their neighborhood, most have (smartly) fled to Nantucket or the Hamptons. For whatever reason, Liz and Jack have stayed in New York aside from the occasional weekend spent upstate. There's a certain sense of special privacy that they have, as if they're the only two people left on this side of Central Park.

It's early evening. Not too hot, maybe low seventies. They're going to go out on the bedroom balcony with drinks. Scotch for Jack, iced tea for Liz. He watches as she cracks a window, giggling when the long curtains tickle her face, and grabs a throw blanket from the chair to bring outside. Jack holds the French doors open for her while balancing the drinks in his other hand. She settles into one of the chaises, and makes some complaint about how you can never see the stars in New York ("Feel free to move to a flyover state, Lemon,").

Still standing, Jack takes her all in as he hands her the glass. She's wearing comfortable pajama shorts and a tank top that pulls tight across her belly; he can see the protrusion quite clearly. Six months pregnant, Liz looks like every incarnation of beauty. Her hair seems shinier, her face fuller; even her eyes are browner somehow. She glows, and not just from the moonlight above.

He can't help but smile at her. "You're beautiful, you know that?"

Liz laughs at this and as a result chokes on her drink. Very attractive, indeed.

When she's done coughing, she counters, "Um. Not really. I think it's more of a me-getting-fat situation." She sets her tea on the small table, and self-consciously tugs the blanket over her stomach.

He takes his own seat next to her.

"Fat, Lemon?" he murmurs, shaking his head.

He reaches out to move the blanket away and places a sure hand on her tummy. "Not here. Definitely not here where our baby lives. Don't you feel that? It's hard and tight. That's not fat."

He skims one hand up between her breasts to brush against the sensitive inner swell of her cleavage, enjoying the shiver that his touch earns.

"And certainly not here where your body is preparing to nourish our daughter."

His hands run down along her ribs to her hips, which he grasps lightly while leaning down to press his lips to her neck.

"You're not fat here where your hips have spread to accommodate the birth of our baby," he rasps. His words sound a little weird to her, but it doesn't matter, because anything he says in that voice sounds so damn sexy. He's placing kisses along that spot by her ear that drives her nuts, which he knows.

He slides his hands up her torso and down again to rest gently on the outsides of her thighs. She whimpers a little and he smiles when his face is an inch from hers. With his next words, Jack's voice drops to a husky cadence. "You're absolutely not fat, Lemon."

Without warning, he pulls away entirely, and casually sips from his tumbler. What a jerk.

"Um, Jack?" she asks shakily.

"Yes, Lemon," he responds lowly, smirking a little.

"If you wanna kiss for a bit, I'm cool with it."

"Are you done stargazing, then?"

"Shut up."

…

Liz leans on one hand and taps her fingers on the white tablecloth. She's inside the Rock Center café, and while she has a nice view of the concourse from her spot, she'd rather see Jack as part of that view. He's fifteen minutes late and she really wishes he'd hurry up because she is starving. Liz drains her third strawberry lemonade (which is not helping her bladder), checks her phone again and sighs, pulling a random thread from her light cardigan.

At least the place has air conditioning.

She's about to try Jack's number again, but lowers her phone when she spots a familiar guy at the hostess' area. He catches her staring, and when she makes eye contact, his expression shifts into one of utter surprise.

"Liz?"

He makes a beeline towards her table, and she closes her mouth, hoping she doesn't look too much like a gaping fish. She's never been good at making impressions, though (be it first, second, or hundredth). As for him, she doesn't get why he looks so flabbergasted. She does work around here, and he has no idea that she's on maternity leave.

"Floyd. What are you doing here?"

He runs a hand through his dark hair and smiles awkwardly. "I, ah, I was going to call you, but it's just been so hectic, with the move and all…"

Liz shifts in her seat—she's rarely comfortable anymore—and doesn't miss when his eyes flicker towards her chest. "What? You're moving?"

"Yeah, um, Cleveland was nice, but I realized that I was leaving behind something more important. I'm starting in the legal department at Hearst next week." He smiles suddenly, like he's just found something he's been waiting for. "It's so nice to see you, Liz."

"Wow, um, you too. How is Kaitlin adjusting?"

His handsome face falls and she sees the weariness in his features. "We…divorced. Not over this. Last year. It wasn't working out."

"Oh my god…Floyd, I'm so sorry. She seemed really nice."

He shrugs, and she figures that he doesn't want to get into it.

"It seems like ages since we last talked, Liz. I'm sorry, for not keeping in touch better. You look amazing!"

She gives him a weird look, because her hair is piled on top of her head in an absolute mess (which is pointless because her neck still feels sweaty), and she skipped makeup today. "Ha, ha…thanks. Um, you too."

"You must hate me for dropping of the face of the earth," he says apologetically.

"Don't worry. I've been pretty busy too, so I don't blame you."

(He doesn't know the half of it.)

She nods at the empty chair across from her, and he sits.

"So you're back in New York. The big ci-tay," Liz says, and promptly frowns. Clearly she's forgotten how to talk to normal people. She continues to lean on the table; not really hiding herself behind the tablecloth, except that yeah, she is. Slurping her straw, she thinks of how to tell him—Floyd, whom she hasn't heard from in over two years, not that she's attempted to call him either—that she's married and expecting. How does one announce that without sounding like a bad reality TV show?

"Yeah. Look, Liz, I know it's kind of arrogant of me to ask this, but I was wondering if you were seeing any—?

He's cut off by the arrival of Jack. "The Floydster? Is that you?"

"Hey, Jack, how are ya?" Floyd stands to bro-hug him, and Liz pushes herself to her feet for her own greeting without thinking.

"Sorry I'm late," Jack says to Liz, and kisses her firmly.

"S'okay."

Meanwhile, Floyd's jaw is on the floor. The hiding-behind-the-table method seems to have worked, because he obviously didn't notice her pregnancy. She'd been about to tell him anyways. Probably.

"Wow," he sputters when the couple pulls apart. "You're, uh, wow."

"Married," Jack offers with the smirk of the alpha male that has won.

"Pregnant," Liz says at the same time. Floyd nods, mouth still a little open.

"Wow," he says again, unable to draw his eyes from her body.

"I know, I'm huge." Liz looks down at her stomach and sighs. "I'm not having not twins, I swear."

Jack rolls his eyes while Floyd laughs nervously. "So, uh, when did…?"

Liz isn't sure she wants to discuss this. Floyd's missed a lot, and she didn't invite him to the wedding for a reason. But she figures she owes him one, so she smiles kindly.

"Um, well, we got married in May," she says, smiling at Jack when he slides an arm around her waist. "We've been together for longer, though."

"Well, congratulations," Floyd says. His face changes and he seems to understand something. Maybe he's thinking of Jack's weird/possessive behavior that went on while he and Liz were dating.

She decides to hug him, partly out of pity. She's had her own share of rejection and it can't hurt to show some care. "Nice to see you, Floyd. Take care."

"Yeah. Same to you guys. And good luck." He doesn't respond to the hug much, which is fine with her.

He leaves the dining area to pick up his take-out, and Jack takes his seat. Liz flags down the waiter to order drinks; they fall into easy conversation, and for whatever reason, neither of them discusses Floyd.

He's a good guy, and she's always liked him. But it was never love, and besides, he missed his chance. That's all.

…

It's a lazy evening, too hot to really do anything, so they're just in bed watching late-night talk shows.

"Is it sad that I get most of my news from Fallon's monologues?"

"Yes, Lemon, it is."

"Ah, well," she mumbles indifferently. She has other stuff to worry about, like how nice it feels to get a head massage. She's lying in his lap while Jack gently rubs her headache away, occasionally muttering comments about her hair's slight dampness. It's not her fault. The humidity kind of plasters it to her head in places.

She sighs contentedly when the last hints of achiness leave, and he moves his hands from her hair to slowly trace her features, distractedly outlining her cheekbones and chin while he watches the TV. She stiffens when his fingers reach her thin scar, lingering for a moment, and he notices.

"You've never asked me about it," she says softly.

"I haven't," Jack agrees, drawing his eyes away from the TV to meet hers. It is surprisingly easy for him to be patient. He has wondered about the scar off and on over the years, but has never mentioned it, nor has she brought it up. He senses that the story is not a pleasant one, but is confident that she will tell him when she is ready.

Liz is silent for a minute and doesn't meet his gaze. "Do you think it's ugly?"

He traces it one more and ends by touching her lips briefly. "No. It is only a piece of you, and I love you as a whole, not in parts."

"I can't tell if that's a nice thing to say."

"I meant it as such. I apologize if it sounded otherwise."

"It's okay. I think…I know what you mean. Thank you." Her blinks become slower; the last one ends in closed eyes.

"You're welcome."

She yawns sleepily, and he barely catches her next words. "I'll tell you about it someday, Jack."

"Shh. Sleep, Lemon."

"LoveyouJack…" she sighs.

"Mmhmm."

Her breathing deepens, and he carefully removes her glasses to place them on the bedside table when he is sure she's asleep.

…

"It's Sunday, Lemon. What do you want to do today?"

"I dunno, want to see Avengers?"

"Again? You've seen it twice."

"What can I say, Jack? I like the booty."

"You know, the movie does have an actual plot, albeit a mediocre one."

"I'm horny 'cuz I'm pregnant, and therefore off the hook."

"I see."

"And the plot is not bad! There's a lot of complexity with the characters. It's really sad that Banner outcasts himself because he can't control his power, and if he would just let Tony Stark help him, then maybe he would have a chance of living in a normal society where he occasionally fights crime and meets for drinks with Tony to discuss new technological developments and other science-y stuff—"

"—I only saw it once, Lemon, but I can tell that your obsession with the Banner/Stark relationship is bordering on unhealthy."

"Jack, those two deserve to be successful and happy science bros."

"Science bros?"

"Yeah. I saw something about it on an Avengers Tumblr."

"Good god, when did you become a socially inept college student? Tumblr, Lemon, really?"

"I have a lot of free time ever since we finished the nursery! And I can't even go shopping, really, because...well. Have you looked in a closet lately?"

"Yes, I see your point. I found myself buried under a diaper mountain when I went to retrieve a tie today."

"Sorry about that. I just want to be ready, you know?"

"You're certainly prepared, Lemon. You're going to do fine—we both are. Together."

"Okay. You know what? Let's go out; I want to get a Captain America T-shirt for the baby."

"Forget it."

…

Liz sinks her hands into the hot water, feeling a wave of warmth overtake her as her hands tingle in the near-simmering heat.

"You know, you don't have to do dishes," Jack says.

"But I made them dirty," she argues, picking up the sponge off the edge of the sink and soaking it. She could use the dishwasher, of course, but she feels like doing some hard labor. She's been sitting around a lot lately and is pretty tired of it.

"Yes, by cooking me dinner. You cooked, I should clean," he points out. She shakes her head.

"We both know that you'd just leave them until Rosa comes tomorrow. I doubt you even remember how to clean a dish."

"This coming from the woman who never unloads the dishwasher; simply taking out forks as needed."

"Are you going to keep arguing with me or are you going to dry dishes?"

He shakes his head with amusement. "So now I'm allowed to participate?"

She rolls her eyes, thrusts the towel at him, and turns back to the sink.

They settle into a comfortable lull as they work in tandem, washing and drying and setting each dish gently on the drying rack. They fit together like two parts of a well-tuned machine, cleaning without the need for aimless chatter and working around each other's elbows easily.

After a few minutes, when he isn't looking, she sneaks the tips of her fingers into the sink and withdraws them, flicking them towards him and sending a shower of droplets at his face. He looks momentarily stunned before a suspicious look flashes across his face.

"Don't pretend that was an accident," he says, setting his hand into the water and cupping it ever so slightly. She sees the beginning of his motion and her stance turns defensive.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she says innocently.

"I think you do," he says, and uses his panther-reflexes to send a spray of water up in her direction. She splashes him back and in the span of ten seconds they've both transformed from rational, mature adults who do chores into irreverent children, covering the counter and floor and each other with water as they send sheets of it towards each other.

When there is little water left in the sink to splash, they stop, winded from laughing and soaked down the front with water. Jack wipes the water from his face, shaking his head like a dog, and Liz pushes wet pieces of bangs away from her forehead.

"Truce?" he asks, regaining his voice. They stare at each other, dripping and cold (it's August, but they have an excellent central AC system), and a shiver runs up her back that has nothing to do with the water. She pants slightly and licks her lips, which taste vaguely soapy. She shakes her head, hand darting for the spraying sink head, and reaches it a split second before he does.

"Not on your life, Donaghy."

…

It is easy to live moment-to-moment; to simply deal with the next thing as it comes.

Planning is harder. Be it for the distant future, or breakfast tomorrow, or a baby that's coming in three months, it's hard. But Liz thinks she's doing a great job of juggling it all. For her, the key is understanding that nothing about life is consistent, except how different it is. This August, she is married, loved, pregnant…last August, she was alone, picking up trash in an orange jumpsuit and learning Spanish slang words. It's remarkable how different her life is now. Liz knows that she has changed, that she has grown in more ways than one.

She feels like crying sometimes. Sure, it's partly from hormones, but it's also partly from true joy…and sometimes from the thought of she and Jack almost missing their chance. She knows now that it was always inevitable for them; it just took a little longer.

Because the good kind of love is always hidden away.

…


	9. September

_September_

…

Some people say that autumn in New York is inviting.

Liz wonders what drugs those people are on. Because unfortunately for restless pregnant women everywhere, the city is experiencing an Indian summer. The leaves haven't even begun to turn yet, and there seems to be no end in sight for the stifling heat wave.

On top of the weather, it's weird for Liz, to be home during the most important part of her show's season. Mostly it's just difficult to relax (it's hard to feel right about reclining with a cold glass of lemonade and a book while having thoughts about her employees possibly wrecking TGS). But she's asked Pete to keep her updated, and after the first week of officially not working, she begins to exhale. She'll tune in to the show, of course, and fully plans to give suggestions for the week after. It's not like she has to relinquish total control…

Her phone vibrates with a text from Pete, and she puts down _Fifty Shades of Gray _(what else is she supposed to do while Jack's at the office all day?) to check it. She has to lower her sunglasses to see the screen past the sun's glare.

_Stop worrying, Liz. Try to relax—maybe buy that dumb Fifty Colors book that Paula has been going on about? Take care, Pete_

Apparently Pete can read her thoughts…then she remembers that they've known each other for ages, and she's glad that he's looking out for her.

Liz smiles to herself, and slips her glasses back on. It is nice, on a Tuesday afternoon in September, to know that they will survive without her.

…

"Lemon?"

Jack's voice rings through the apartment, and Liz can hear his excitement clearly.

"In here," she calls from the breakfast nook, and saves the draft that she's working on before closing her laptop. All of this free time has given her a chance to improve her screenplay, and she's pretty proud of what she has so far.

"Hi, Lemon," he greets her with a quick kiss, before embracing her a little too firmly.

"Oww, Jack, what is it?"

"Sorry, sorry!" He gently rubs her arms a few times to compensate, and she looks at him expectantly. She hasn't seen him so wound up, since, well, Limited Edition Birthday Cake Oreos.

He takes a couple of breaths, and once he is sufficiently calm, he invites her to sit down.

"I'm already sitting down, Jack. What's the matter with you?"

"I've been promoted," he says, his gaze intent.

She eyes him for a moment, not entirely sure of his sanity. "What do you mean? There's nothing else for you to be promoted to. You're head of your whole division. Several divisions, actually; as if you would let me forget."

He resists rolling his eyes, because he thinks she is being rather obtuse. Then again, she may be doing it on purpose. It's not unheard of.

"I mean to say that I am the new CEO of Kabletown," he clarifies.

Liz's eyes widen behind her glasses, and her mouth pops open.

"Oh, my god! Congratulations!"

He smiles hugely, and they embrace (as well as her body will allow). He holds her tightly, savoring the feeling. Liz can see that he has been torturing himself all day, and wonders why he didn't just come home.

"They told me after lunch. I couldn't leave—there's always some damn thing—but I've been dying to tell you."

Liz knows that it's been in talks lately. Jack has mentioned rumors of Hank leaving, but it seemed too good to be true.

"I'm happy for you. I know how it feels to finally reach your goals," Liz says, smiling genuinely at him. She absentmindedly laces her fingers under her tummy, and is surprised when he suddenly turns serious.

"This job is just icing on the cake," Jack says, placing his hands over hers. "I may have been less verbal about it, Lemon, but it's true—"

Liz feels his blissful sigh.

"—You, and a family, were always my goal," Jack finishes. He's startled when tears appear in her eyes, and draws his hands away, concerned.

"What is it?"

Liz swallows, feeling ridiculous. "Nothing. That's nice to say, is all."

He chuckles in relief. "I meant it."

Liz leans her head back. "Sooo, you're boss of the world now. What does this mean?"

"A bigger paycheck," he deadpans, and she rolls her eyes.

"Very funny. What made Hank step down?"

He relays the story to her in an animated fashion, for him, and she tries to follow the details. After a minute she decides that she doesn't really understand the logistics beyond 'he wanted to spend time with grandchildren'. Jack will meet with the board next week, and Liz is thankful to learn that Hank has already negotiated for him to stay in New York.

"There will be a party next Saturday, to celebrate. What will you wear?"

Liz frowns. "Whoa, what makes you think I have time for a shindig, Jack?"

She makes a dramatic show of checking the iCalender on her phone, while he observes with narrowed eyes.

Liz shows him her schedule, which is absolutely blank. Obviously.

"I guess I can go," she shrugs.

"Indeed. And so the question persists: what will you wear?"

She opens her computer, and types _formal muumuus_ into the search engine. He is not amused.

…

"You look wonderful," he breathes into her ear, while his hands find the curves of her hips.

She slaps him away, protesting.

"Don't, you'll tug it down! It's only being held up with double-sided tape, and some sticky putty that I found," she complains, and he hopes to God that she is joking.

He steps back to hold her at arms' length, taking in her form. Jack can hardly believe his eyes—it has been a while since she's dressed up, but this is worth waiting for. Her gown is floor-length and strapless; the prenatal yoga that their doctor suggested has fared well for her. In fact, Jack himself has gone down a couple of tux sizes—Liz made it clear that _no way in hell_ was she doing sweaty exercises unless she could have the satisfaction of torturing him as well—and they look radiant as a couple; this he knows.

Further inspection reveals tiny crystals around the garment's Empire waist, and they shimmer with her movement. Finally, the dress's cream color provides a nice contrast with her dark hair. She is, of course, fabulously pregnant, and he knows that tonight, the attention will not be on him alone.

Liz reaches up to straighten the bow tie on his brand-new tux, and seems content that she will not have a wardrobe malfunction in the near future. She has extra tape in her clutch just in case, but the people at Saks really know their stuff (she went at Jack's insistence, heaven help her if she suggested otherwise). She hasn't had a real night out in ages, and is excited to rejoin society. Especially if the society in question has a knack for booking extremely talented caterers, which it does.

Tonight, they are on top of the world. They are a showrunner and a soon-to-be CEO. They are a wife and husband, almost a mother and father.

They are Jack and Liz, and the entire media—everyone from the idiots at TMZ to the idiots at the New York Times, if you ask Jack—wants to get the dirt on their suddenly fascinating lives.

They pose for photographs, and Jack is not at all uncomfortable with using Liz's pregnancy as an excuse to duck inside way before he should (not that he doesn't genuinely care about her feelings). They sit at the bar, and Liz sighs in relief to be off her feet. Jack smiles sympathetically, unsure that he deserves the answering glare ("Jack, I'd like to see _you_ stomp around on a pair of these things, with the additional weight of an unborn child,"). After five or so minutes, making the rounds becomes unavoidable, and she says she'll meet up with him after a much-needed trip to the bathroom.

After she does her business, Liz lingers inside the powder room to appreciate the décor (and do a necessary self-inspection). She decides that her lipstick is okay, but something else needs attention. She digs around in her purse for the travel-sized deodorant, and her hand is very much in her armpit when a voice behind her interrupts.

"Liz, hi."

She looks up in the mirror, and hastily lowers her arm when she recognizes the woman behind her.

"Um," she says intelligently.

"I thought I'd see you here. I haven't forgotten your weird relationship with Jack," Avery says, waving her hand carelessly. Liz finds it odd that Avery would put it that way, and then it dawns on her that she may simply have no idea they were married.

Liz decides to test the waters. "Yep, you know me. Always got Jack's back."

Avery remembers her meeting with Jack, all those months ago. She eyes Liz's midsection and experiences a moment of doubt, but reassures herself that there is no way that he and Liz would have made it so long. Betraying no emotion, Avery faces her former…threat, if she's being honest.

"Yes, it's so wonderful that he's been promoted. His date tonight is a lucky woman," she says, careful not to seem too obvious that she is fishing for information.

Liz decides to have some fun. "Oh, he was married a while ago, I guess you haven't heard," she says politely.

Avery frowns. She had no idea, not that she will reveal that to Liz.

"I did hear something, but I've never met her. We don't care much about personal details at Fox, and I haven't spoken to Jack myself in, well, ages…" she trails off, and leans into the mirror to examine herself.

Her words are not entirely true. Fox is in fact borderline obsessive when it comes to executive gossip, especially at rival networks. But Avery is skilled at holding a grudge, and made a point to ignore Jack completely after his rejection. She's worked hard to remove herself from his life as much as possible, and only even came tonight in order to be first in line for a scoop on Kabletown's new CEO. Not because she wants to know how Jack is doing, or how he looks in a tuxedo these days. Although, how he looks in a tuxedo could certainly be relevant to the story.

When she remembers that Liz is still there, Avery straightens up. "But _this_ is much more interesting. Look at _you_," she gestures, and Liz gets the feeling that she's more curious than she is pleased. She's almost insulted.

"Yep, it is pretty interesting," Liz replies with a half-smile.

"Congratulations," Avery says, her tone relaying anything but. However, Liz is hardly afraid of Avery anymore, and she straightens herself up as much as she can at this point.

"Thanks."

Avery raises her perfectly arched eyebrows.

"Who is the father? If you don't mind me asking, of course."

At this point in the game, Liz is positive that Avery really doesn't know about them. Perhaps she truly has been out of the loop. Either way, she thinks that Avery is trying a bit too hard to appear disinterested.

"Jack," she says casually, and relishes the ugly look that overcomes the blonde's face.

Liz has to resist clapping her hands in glee. She's bested the perfect Avery Jessup at something (without even trying that hard), and wishes that there were someone around to take a picture of the moment and document it forever. For now, she's content to enjoy Avery's barely contained rage.

"Really," she says through her teeth.

"Yep. I'm due in November, not that you care." Liz is the epitome of calm, and she surveys Avery coolly, because who the hell is she to act so hostile towards a pregnant lady? Liz decides that she's never liked the woman, and realizes that she was always nice to her only out of respect for Jack. Obviously, the feeling is mutual.

"To be perfectly honest, I'm unsure as to why I've already spent this much time talking to...Liz Lemon," Avery says her name with obvious distaste.

"Hyphen Donaghy," Liz corrects, and resists the urge to add 'bitch' to the end of her sentence.

"Excuse me?"

"Lemon-hyphen-Donaghy. For future reference."

Avery narrows her eyes. "You've made your point."

"Just making sure," Liz says neutrally. Inside, she is laughing her ass off. She can't wait to relay this to Jack; she hadn't known until now that it'd be so much fun to put Avery in her place.

"Well, I should get going. Shall I tell my husband you say 'hi'?" Liz asks.

"That won't be necessary. Bye, Liz."

"See ya," she waves cheerfully. When the blonde is out of sight, Liz whistles a little to herself while she sticks the deodorant back in her bag.

…

She finds Jack schmoozing with a circle of men in tuxedos, and stifles a giggle because they look like a group of penguins. Handsome, gray-haired penguins.

"Ah, Lemon, there you are."

Liz greets Jorgensen and a few other familiar executives with a kiss to the cheek, and shakes hands with the ones whom she has never met. 'I'm thrilled to finally meet your lovely wife,' is the general consensus. So far, so good.

"Lemon, I was just telling these gentlemen about that wonderful bed and breakfast we stayed at in Lake George last month," he says, slipping an arm around her waist.

Liz wonders if he's told them about the raccoon infestation that happened while they were there. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, and she decides to keep that little piece of information between the two of them. She knows that Jack's public image is important to him, so she's on her best behavior.

"Oh, it was really nice," she says instead, nodding. "Lots of boats."

The group chuckles, and Liz breathes a mental sigh of relief. She uses the boost of confidence to launch into a hilarious Tracy story, and feels Jack relax beside her.

Jack was right—he is hardly the center of attention anymore, but he couldn't be happier (or prouder. Her impending motherhood is proof that he is keeping his legacy alive, after all). Liz is a natural charmer, and she converses easily with the partygoers. Jack knows her face well, though, and after a while he can see the tiredness in her eyes from standing for so long. He promises himself that he will make it up to her later; for now, he holds her to his side and murmurs his thanks while she wistfully eyes the passing platters of champagne flutes.

When they find themselves alone for a moment, Liz takes the opportunity to down a couple of shrimp toasts.

"How are you holding up, Lemon?" Jack asks.

"Fine. Party's pretty fancy; I keep expecting a Marvel Comics villain to show up any moment," Liz mumbles through a mouthful of hors d'oeuvre.

"Aside from that delusion, I hope you are enjoying yourself somewhat," he replies with a smile.

She swallows. "I saw Avery in the bathroom."

His face falls, concerned. "Oh, God. What happened? Are you okay?"

She snorts. "_I'm_ fine. Not so sure about Avery," she says.

"Meaning…?"

"It was like, all Hot-Box-With-Avery-Jessup-y, except she was the one getting hot and bothered, not me."

"I'm not sure I care to hear the details."

Liz shrugs. "She was a little shocked, that's all. I imagine that she'll recover." She scans the spacious room, and sure enough, Avery is chatting _very closely_ with a tuxedoed partygoer. Jack follows her gaze, and raises his eyebrows.

"I'm just glad you're fine. It seems that I've taught you well," he smirks.

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I thought we were past the mentor/mentee thing. Get over yourself, Jack."

He leans in to mutter something sexual in her ear, and she swats him with wide eyes.

"You needa stop saying stuff like that in public! Maybe ever."

He ignores her, and kisses the sweet spot behind her ear. She resists the urge to squirm, because they're not entirely in private. She only wishes that Jack would remember this, too.

…

"Hello? Oh, hi, Colleen, how are you? Uh huh. A little ache-y, but I'm hanging in there. Yeah, he's right here. Hold on."

Liz ignores the hand motions that Jack is making to his neck, and hands him the phone with a gleeful look.

"Hello, mother," he says, and sighs. Deeply. Colleen says something on the other end, causing Jack to roll his eyes.

"No, Colleen, I am not _tired_ of Lemon, nor do I plan on becoming so," he says tiredly, and sneaks a glance at Liz, who is pretending not to enjoy herself.

"Yes, _I am aware_ of my marital history. I don't see how this concerns…oh, really? Did you call just to tell me that? Not even a 'congratulations, Jackie'?" he says through his teeth in a decent imitation of his mother.

Liz laughs silently; because of course Colleen would see this as an opportunity to wind Jack up. It's been a while since she's called, and things have been too calm.

He listens for a while, and his face takes up a strange expression. Liz looks at him quizzically, but he doesn't meet her eye.

"Yes, I'll tell her. Goodbye, Colleen."

He hangs up the phone, and stares at the wall. Liz pokes him tentatively after a minute of silence.

"What did she say?"

"She says to tell you to drink your liquids, and lay off the Mallomars."

Liz grimaces at him guiltily. "How did she know?"

He shakes his head. "That's not even the weird part, Lemon. She said she is…proud. Of me."

"Of course she is," Liz frowns, "Why wouldn't she be?"

"She's never told me in those exact words. I feel…oddly light."

She smiles. "I never doubted it. Deep down, I don't think you did, either."

Perhaps she is right. Still, his mother's words mean almost as much to him as the job itself.

…

The early morning September sun shines in through half-closed curtains as Liz awakens. It is Sunday, and though the urge to use the bathroom is overwhelming, she pauses for just a moment to watch her snoring husband. She likes seeing Jack like this, uninhibited and relaxed. She sighs when it becomes necessary to disentangle herself from him, and she pads towards the bathroom on swollen feet.

Apparently, their daughter has found a very comfortable position right on her bladder.

She returns a minute later, causing the mattress to shift when she crawls back into bed. She tries to find a position her back will tolerate and is greeted by a soft fluttering sensation deep inside of her; it seems as if someone else aside from her is already awake.

"Hi baby," she murmurs sweetly, patting her tummy under the loose sleep shirt.

"Is it morning already?" Jack mumbles beside her, still half-asleep, and he turns on his side to face her.

"Yeah, but it's Sunday. Go back to sleep," she says.

"Hmm. Why are you awake?"

"The baby was lying on my bladder. She already has a great sense of humor. Probably gets that from you," Liz says grumpily.

"I think you mean to say that she is already obnoxious, in which case I would argue that she takes after her mother," he smirks, but she can hear the pride behind his words.

Liz places a light peck on his lips, and Jack resigns to the fact that he's not going to fall back asleep. After brushing a tangled curl away from her face, he responds with a deeper kiss.

It doesn't take much these days, and she moans into his mouth while his hands travel southward. She pushes the sheets off and he guides her onto her side. Seven months pregnant, she is neither slender nor graceful. Her body is sometimes burdensome, yet it makes little difference in way of desire.

Her breasts are heavy and tender, but he knows exactly how to touch her. Her moans and sighs drive him crazy, yet he has the skill to continue moving his other hand between her legs, demanding access. She squirms next to him, an excited flush covering her cheeks, eyes closed as she absorbs the pleasure.

Later, she takes a minute to get her breath back, and he laces his hands under his neck, smiling at the ceiling (he's still got it).

And it is Sunday.

She pokes him in the side once, and he turns his head, questioning. "Yes, Lemon?"

"Can we have pancakes now?"

…


	10. October

_October_

…

"Do we really have to do that?"

Liz's words are muffled because of the spoon in her mouth, and she's peering at Jack's laptop from her spot next to him on the couch while he plays with the fabric of her soft cashmere dress.

"It's about time, Lemon."

She removes the spoon, and sticks it back in the Nutella jar. "It doesn't look like fun."

"But it is necessary. You'll learn how to breathe. I'll learn how to help you. We're already late as it is."

Though his words are spoken calmly, her brow furrows as she looks down at her enormous belly, and she puts down the jar on the coffee table with a huff.

"Jack, I'll feel like an idiot. We did the prenatal yoga, and it was awful. Don't make me do it."

"You know that Dr. Rose said we should take a prenatal class. They can teach us important techniques, and, besides, it's nice for us as a couple. See," he points at one paragraph on the screen, "they say it gives the father…'a better feeling about the miracle of birth'."

While he knows it is necessary, Jack can't help himself from grimacing at the words, and he moves his computer to a spot next to the Nutella.

"Ew. No way."

Over the past weeks he has suggested almost every pregnancy-related class for couples, but Liz has dismissed them all. This time he will not let her win. He wants to do breathing exercises, he wants to roll with her on the floor; he wants to do it all. His child will be born in the very best way possible, if he has anything to do with it. He may even win the Birth of the Year award from _Executive Fathers_ magazine.

Jack places two hands on his frowning wife and allows them to wander to her thighs.

"Please, Lemon," he whispers close to her ear, and she shivers.

"You're manipulating me," she complains weakly.

"Does it work?" he breathes, nibbling her earlobe.

"Crap, yes," Liz finally mumbles, and he squeezes her in delight.

"I'll go to the dumb class with you, but if it gets too stupid, I'm leaving."

"Sounds fair," he agrees, and finally she turns back towards the computer.

"Okay, let's sign up."

Jack gives her a shark smile. "I already did."

Liz frowns in disapproval, and he runs a finger down her side for a distraction.

"It's tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" she asks incredulously, but her aversion turns into a soft moan while he places kisses over the valley of her throat.

"Mm-hmm," he murmurs, and she sighs.

"You've gotten dangerously good at manipulating me."

"I had to. We're running out of time," he answers drily. When her face slips into a pout, he almost laughs out loud. It's entirely inappropriate for a woman her age to look that cute. Yet she has hardly ever fit the societal definition of 'appropriate'. (He doesn't mind anymore.)

"I miss feeling you without the, ya know, belly between us. Does this already make me a bad mother?"

He shakes his head.

"Not at all. It just makes you a woman."

Liz lays her head onto his shoulder, and he buries his nose in her hair.

"How come you always know the right thing to say?"

Jack inhales, and smiles at her distinct scent: a mixture of mildly-priced shampoo, something faintly flowery...it is _her_. He can't get enough.

"Because I love you. It's really rather simple."

"Show it to me," she whispers into his neck. Then, before she loses her nerve: "Make me feel sexy."

His lips find her earlobe anew.

"That's easy."

It is Friday, and outside the autumn leaves are falling in the darkness, as one man leads his woman to their bedroom. She undresses herself and watches him do the same. Jack takes her hand and tugs her in front of their full-length mirror.

Without shoes, she is shorter than him, and even despite her heavy hips, despite her pregnant body, she is so lovely in his arms. Jack lets his palms slide over her full breasts, her rounded belly, her smooth thighs and up again. He finds her eyes in the mirror, brown and slightly glassy. Tilting his head, he rubs his cheek over her satiny hair.

"Look how beautiful you are," he whispers, and in the glow of his adoration, Liz can see it as well.

A smile plays around her lips, reaching her eyes, and she leans back against his chest, trusting him to support her.

"Thank you, love," she answers.

It is scarce that either of them uses pet names, but when she does it, it hits him with unexpected tenderness.

He turns her around until he can kiss her, and with eyes open he can admire her bare back in the reflection of the mirror, the contrast of wavy dark hair on milky-white shoulders, the curves of her ass. He reaches around her, and his hands on her are so arousing that he hums audibly. Breaking their kiss, Liz turns her head to see what he can see, and the image of their naked bodies in such an intimate embrace hits her insides with a rush of heat.

When she looks at him again, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes dark with excitement.

"I'm tired of standing," she whispers, and pushes him backwards.

He grabs her wrists to take her with him, and when they fall onto the mattress rather ungracefully, both of them are laughing.

Soon, their chuckles subside; turn into breathless moans. And the leaves outside their windows are dancing as Jack and Liz find their rhythm. As they come together in the oldest dance ever.

He whispers to her, mentions every part of her, everything she does that is sexy, and she revels in it, feeling female and desired. Their gazes are locked as their worlds splinter, baby blue falling into chocolate brown, and everything around them vanishes until nothing but her smile remains; nothing but the raw devotion in his eyes.

They fall asleep with him curled around her, and she dreams about a baby sitting on a moon. He doesn't dream anything at all.

…

"I did not see that coming," Jack gasps and clutches her hand while they make their way down the stairs. Liz isn't totally clumsy all the time, but when it comes to stairs, she has zero grace. It's a bit of a hassle; the lack of balance control.

"You did know how babies are born, didn't you?" she says, but her cheeks are pale.

"Of course, Lemon, don't be silly, but..."

His voice trails off as he tries to erase the memory of the video they have just seen. Liz can't stop thinking about it either; it reminds her of a birthing class sketch that she wrote once for TGS, and this is way too similar.

"Oh, Lemon, I'm so sorry, it will hurt so much…"

She stops suddenly, forcing him to stop as well.

"Thanks for mentioning the pain. I thought squeezing something as big as a football out of me would be a completely fun pastime."

He simply gapes at her, and she has to laugh at his obvious shock.

"It's a little too late to worry about it, Jack."

"What about a C-section?"

"God, Jack, have you ever seen a video of a C-section? They cut and rip the skin apart and—"

"Lalala."

His hands are on his ears, and she laughs again at his ridiculous behavior.

She had disliked the prenatal class instantly; he had loved it. Able to feel his pride and joy, Liz had indulged him, had breathed with him, had let him rock her, rub her back and so on.

Along with them there had been five couples, but the other women had been a few weeks behind Liz in their pregnancies.

"Told you we're late," he had hissed into her ear, and she had rolled her eyes while the midwife had 'involved' the couples.

"Jack Donaghy; my wife Liz. This is our first child together."

His voice had interrupted her musings, and she had simply nodded as Jack introduced them.

"A girl, Alice," he had answered the next question, and several _awwws _could be heard.

His hand had rubbed her belly in possessive satisfaction.

"Yes, we are quite excited. Aren't we, darling?"

She had glared at him but tried her best sugary smile.

"Absolutely, _sweetie_."

Then everything had been about panting against the pain, and while the women had rolled on their backs, Liz hadn't been able to stop thinking about upside-down turtles. The fact that she had been one of them had made it less funny, though.

It had pretty much been as expected. Until the midwife had started that video. They had only made it halfway through the birth scenes before the urge to flee had been overwhelming, but fortunately they'd been on the same page.

"Do you think we've passed the class?" he asks. The magazines would want to know.

"Uh...I don't think this is a class where you can fail, Jack."

"Again, I'm sorry," he says dejectedly. "I don't think I'll be much help when the time comes."

"Well, contrary to you, I've been prepared for the fact that Alice will have to leave my body at some point. And the number of exits is limited."

"I don't know what to do. What can I do?"

Now, it is Liz's turn to soothe him. This is not the first time it's happened, and it won't be the last. It is one of the keys to their relationship.

"You will be there. Just drive me crazy as always. We'll bicker. Maybe I can forget the pain. Oh, and you aren't allowed to look between my legs, is that clear?"

She looks at him sharply while he shudders at the image.

"Absolutely. No photos or videos either. Do you," he swallows hard, "do you think we will ever be able to forget that? Will ever be able to have sex again?" Now he's concerned. (Of course.)

"Eh," she shrugs, "it doesn't really matter. My intention was to have your baby. This whole relationship thing was just a cover to get what I wanted. Good genes and whatever."

He looks at her indifferent face with dark and serious eyes.

"Not funny."

"Beg to differ," she says with glee.

"Okay," he runs one hand through his hair. "I might be overreacting."

"Might?" Liz raises her eyebrows.

"I just hate feeling incompetent. You know?"

"I do. Are you gonna need the 'Nut Up, Jack Donaghy' speech again?"

"No. That may have been years ago, but it is still very memorable. I like to think of that as one of the defining moments of our relationship."

Liz smirks. "How cute."

"Indeed. Now, are you able to manage the rest of these stairs, or shall I call in a forklift?"

"You know what? I've decided that I'm not going to apologize in advance for anything that I call or say to you during labor."

"Looking forward to it."

…

It is nights like these, when Jack stays late at the office, that Liz feels a familiar fear.

Sitting in the nursery's rocking chair, she holds herself while convincing her stupid brain that everything is good. That it doesn't matter that she hasn't spent much time around babies. That it's okay to feel scared of what's coming next. That it is fine if she doesn't know any real lullabies.

Just to reassure herself, she quietly starts singing.

"Don't go to sleep with a frown in your pocket. Take it to the yard, and tie it to a rocket. Shoot it to the moon; you'll feel better soon…don't go to bed with a frown."

This is how Jack finds when he returns from work, his face ruddy from the outdoor chill. She is so wrapped up in her musings that she hasn't even heard his keys in the lock, and when he approaches the room he can hear her clear singing voice filling the air.

The sound of his footsteps alerts her, and with a shy grin she looks up, pausing in her song.

"Don't stop."

Despite the lyrics of her ditty, she frowns up at him. "I don't even know a proper lullaby."

"It's all about your voice. Alice doesn't care what you're singing to her."

"I haven't spent enough time with babies," she blurts. "I don't know how to be a mother. What if I'm not good at it?"

He leans against the wall, and offers a small smile.

"Well, you love her."

Liz smiles back tentatively.

"Yes, of course I do."

"What do you wish to teach her?"

"Um. That she's loved. That there is a safe place in this world for her. That she can achieve whatever she wants. Also, if she wants to be gay, that I have no problem with it."

"Nor do I, but you may be jumping ahead of yourself there, Lemon."

Liz shrugs, and Jack can see that she is not entirely placated, but he's getting there. He chooses his next words carefully.

"From where I am standing, you'll be a wonderful mother, Elizabeth. I wish I had known one like you when I was growing up." He thinks of his recent progress with Colleen, but the part about his childhood feelings is true.

Liz turns her attention to the window, and watches the trees swaying in the Park. She is no longer distraught.

"I hope you're right. And we'll be doing it together. So I will not be entirely to blame."

He helps her out of the chair, and they head to the kitchen to order takeout.

"Without a doubt, Lemon."

…


	11. November

_November_

…

It's cold and it's dark and Liz hates _everything_.

Jack won't stop hovering. They're both on edge, anxious for the moment when it'll be time to go, and between the two of them there is enough angst to power a small appliance. In the past few days, Liz and Jack have taken to blankly watching QVC and pacing, respectively. Her due date is tomorrow and she is ready. They both are more than ready.

Jack has just left the apartment in search of fresh air and a mixed drink, and has sent Jenna in his place. Liz wonders if this is a good idea, because right now her body feels disconnected from her brain, (who knows if she'll be able to control what comes out of her mouth) but she does some deep breathing exercises and is somewhat calmed by the time her friend shows up.

Jenna removes her jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. In a rare show of sympathy, she asks about someone else's feelings before her own.

"Hi, Liz, how are you feeling?"

Jenna has dropped by several times over the past few months, full of set stories and complaints about Tracy. Though she hasn't said it outright, Liz can tell that Jenna misses her. Or she probably just can't wait to be a godmother so that she can try to extend her power over some new victim.

This train of thought is not helping Liz's mood, and besides, she hates that everyone thinks she needs to be babysat.

"Fat and crabby."

"Oh. Well…maybe I'll just sit over there." Jenna had been about to sit on the couch, but thinks she would feel safer from the nearby chair.

"You're safe; you aren't the one who made me fat or crabby."

Jenna laughs nervously. "Everything okay with you and Jack?"

Liz shrugs. "I'm enormously pregnant. Everything he says pisses me off. It's fine. How are things going with Paul?"

Nothing gets Jenna going like the topic of her wifsband, and Liz has do to very little for the next hour besides nod, smile, and wish that _this baby would come already_.

…

"Jack?"

He freezes. "Yes, Lemon?"

"It's time."

…

When Jack and Liz welcome their daughter into the world, they remember that love is something to be felt.

It is the fifteenth of November—a cold autumn's Friday. It is the day when Alice Margaret Donaghy joins the world. It is the day when Liz becomes a mother; the day Jack becomes a father.

It is the day when a mother cries silent tears of happiness, as she nurses her daughter for the first time; the day when a man looks at the woman he had loved for so long just to find out how much he has underestimated the concept of love so far.

If it's a dream, no one feels like waking up.

…

For the second time in his life, Jack Donaghy is speechless.

The first time had been earlier this year, when he had seen Liz Lemon walking down the aisle in her silk wedding dress, smiling broadly. He remembers thinking that no one in the history of the universe could have looked more breathtaking.

This time he is standing in the doorway of the hospital room. She is sitting up in bed, her face illuminated by sunlight streaming through the windows as if nature itself wants to give her a spotlight. She looks exhausted, but to Jack she is beautiful. She doesn't see him in the doorway; all her attention is focused on the baby in her arms. The tiny figure looks back at her as she suckles on her breast.

"You're staring," Liz teases when she finally notices his presence. "It's not as if you've never seen my boobs before, Jack."

Jack walks to her side and kisses her tenderly. "I've never seen you use them to feed a _baby, _Lemon. Hello, little Alice, it's me, your dad."

He sits in a chair beside the bed and strokes their daughter's head, taking pride in the fact that the baby already has great hair. Brown hair. His daughter has brown hair. He cannot believe that he has a daughter.

"How does it feel to be a mom, Lemon?"

"Wonderful." Her eyes shine with love as she glances down at their baby, who has stopped nursing and fallen asleep. "I'm also a little nervous. Or a lot nervous. Even with all the parenting research I've done over the past nine months, I still don't feel totally prepared to be a mother."

He touches her hand. "We'll learn as we go along. Don't forget that I've never done this before, either. You'll be an amazing mother."

She leans over to kiss his cheek. "Thanks, Jack."

"Thank _you_ for having my baby." He gives her another kiss.

"_Your _baby? I contributed just as much genetic material as you did."

"Fine, you're right. She's _our _baby," he concedes.

"God, that sounds good. _Our baby_. I hope she'll have your brains."

"I hope she'll have your creativity," he says.

During labor, there was minimal name-calling, a bit of groaning (not entirely from Liz), and some hair-pulling. But now Alice is here, and she is so small, so beautiful, so _theirs. _Jack sees a miniature Liz in her already—he has a sudden vision of the two running errands wearing matching cardigan sweaters—in her nose, her mouth; in the screwy badger face that she makes before she nurses.

Except for the eyes.

Alice has startling blue eyes, bright for a newborn. Jack's had small chances here and there to peer into them before their thin lids flutter shut for a nap, and he smiles with pride every time. He sees himself in his daughter's eyes, sure, but more than anything he sees the chance to raise someone wonderful and good. He will make sure that all of Alice's needs are met, as well as many of her wants, and he knows that Liz will be there all along to keep him in line.

And the baby has his eyes.

…

Liz finds herself thinking back to that dream she'd had, all those years ago.

"_I never thought this day would come, Lizzie."_

Okay, so Tracy had been there too, which was weird. Not to mention Meat Cat. But Jack's part in the dream had seemed solid and real to her, and in a way the dream was a sort of prediction. Either way, the day had come, and here they were.

Parents.

…


	12. December

_December_

…

"How's Alice?"

Liz, after nearly taking Jack's head off with a Dr. Seuss book during a sleep-deprived moment of weakness, decided that she desperately needed a day out of the house. So she called up Pete, who was glad to meet up for lunch.

"Oh my god, she's perfect." Helplessly, Liz whips out her iPhone. She had promised herself she wouldn't be one of those mothers that gushed incessantly about their child, but to hell with it. "We took this one just yesterday."

Liz tilts the screen and Pete admires the pretty, blue-eyed baby. "Oh. She's so beautiful."

"I know," Liz sighs. "She's the most beautiful baby." She gives a little, self-deprecating chuckle. "All right, I know all mothers say that but in this case, it's actually true."

"I believe it. So, don't you wanna hear what's been going down at the studio?"

Liz sighs again, and this one is weighted. "Hit me with the worst of it first."

Pete gives her a melancholy smile. "Well, we're almost-most-definitely cancelled after this season."

She winces. "Ouch. Says who?"

Pete shrugs. "Everyone. It's time, Liz."

"I guess it's better to end running to the finish line instead of limping to it," Liz says wisely. She knows that Pete is right. Jack hasn't mentioned rumors of TGS ending, but she finds she is okay with it all. She has finally put herself before her career, and only hopes that her friends will eventually do the same.

He gives her a weak smile in response.

"Pete, it's gonna be okay. You'll land something amazing, afterwards, and if not, you can always find your way by serving shrimp toasts to the hungry people."

Her friend just looks at her, clearly questioning her ability to make actual sense.

"I sincerely hope you haven't forgotten how to write, because we could use you for this sprint that you speak of," he says.

"Yeah, okay. I'll be back after New Year's, and I swear I'll help you with your real Plan B this time."

"Thanks, Liz. I am probably not going to be asked back for subbing, so I appreciate it."

"Anytime. Let's order," she says, and flags down Darryl to put in a few orders of Bloomin' Onion.

…

The baby snuggles sleepily against her mother's chest. Jack smiles at the sight and sits on the edge of the bed, sliding one gentle fingertip against one soft baby cheek.

"Hi," Liz smiles, a little sleepy herself. "How was your meeting?"

"Longer than I envisioned." Leaning forward, he presses his mouth to Liz's, and she sweeps her tongue in, taking him by surprise. They linger together for a moment, until Liz tenses to remind him of the third party in her arms.

"How was lunch with Pete?" he asks.

She is still dressed from her day out, looking a lot more put together than she has in weeks in black pants (and a sky-blue T-shirt that does wonders in the chest department).

"I'm gonna go run myself a bath." She presses a soft kiss to Alice's head before rising from the bed, and hands her to Jack. She starts to wiggle out of her slacks, and gives him a heavy-lidded look. "Feel free to join me."

He raises his eyebrows as her slacks dropped to the floor. "Lemon?"

She smiles faintly. "Yeah?"

"Did you go to the doctor?"

"Yup. Last week," she says casually, popping the 'p'. "Didn't I mention it?"

There has been an unspoken no-sex-allowed rule between them lately. Until determined by her doctor that it would be okay, Jack hardly felt like taking any chances.

"No." Jack swallows. "No, you did not."

"Well, I did." Bra and panties are discarded next and she walks to the bathroom, a slight sway to her hips that is nearly hypnotic.

"I'll be in the tub."

To make sure he understands what she's trying to say, Liz adds, "Naked."

The door closes gently behind her and Jack moves carefully from the bed, gently cradling his sleeping daughter. Right before he lowers her into the bassinet, Alice stirs and he practically holds his breath.

"C'mon, baby," he murmurs lowly. One little hand fists and Jack begins to sway, one hand softly patting her diapered bottom in a lulling motion. "I love you, but mommy and daddy really need alone time."

The low sound of his voice has her settling again and he continues to speak softly, until Jack is sure she is fully asleep again. After setting his precious bundle in her crib, he can't help just watching her for a few seconds.

Obviously, he is biased, but they have made one perfect little girl. However, when she clenches one tiny fist in sleep and makes some type of gurgling sound, he comes out of his trance.

"I'll buy you a pony if you don't wake up," he breathes to his daughter, slowly and carefully backing away from the crib and perfectly able to take her up on the pony promise should the need arise. Quickly, he strips his clothes and goes to join his wife. He leaves the bathroom door slightly ajar in order for them to hear any noise.

Liz is already buried up to her neck in soapy water, hair piled high with a clip. She looks over his naked body and shifts forward in the tub to make room for him. That is all the invitation Jack needs. He slips behind her, cradling her warm, wet body between his arms and legs. She relaxes back against him with a soft little humming sigh. His own sigh of pleasure is uncontrollable as he presses his face to the side of her neck. It has been way too long since he has had her relaxed and naked in his arms.

"I had no idea you went to the doctor's last week," he murmured softly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It was just a routine check-up." Her head tilts to the side in silent invitation to his lips. "She cleared me for, you know, _stuff_, but we've been busy and really, I didn't feel up to it."

"Besides your continuous use of the word 'stuff' in place of highly meaningful acts of love, it's alright, Lemon. I am pleased you've had a change of heart, of course, but can hardly blame you."

"Thanks. And shut up."

Jack chuckles. "I suppose I should also thank you for not teasing me unnecessarily with the news of your visit this past week." He nips her earlobe playfully.

It is her turn to laugh softly. "Stop, stop!" Turning her head, she places a wet kiss on his jaw with twinkling eyes. "I have no intention of teasing tonight, though. It's been too long."

"God, yes, it has," Jack agrees on a breathless exhale. His hands stroke along her stomach under the water while he places a deep, open-mouthed kiss in the sweet spot between her neck and shoulder.

"I will ask you to, um, go gentle though. We don't want any…leakage." She draws her hand up from the water to gesture at her chest area, and Jack scrunches his face at the thought. Her concern is legitimate, though, and he reaches for the shampoo bottle on a low shelf of the tub to pour some of the pale liquid in his hand.

"Whatever you want." He undoes the hairclip, and her thick curls spring free. Her locks are getting a little long, and Jack makes a mental note to book a relaxing spa visit when he gets the chance. "Just tell me what you want," he whispers into her ear, dipping a washcloth in the soapy water. "And it is yours."

She gasps slightly when water trickles from above. He's bunched the washcloth, squeezing the excess water over her head to wet her hair. And then his hands are threading into the wet strands, lathering up her hair in a heavenly massage. She moans softly. "I want you to do that forever."

He smiles and washes her hair thoroughly. She makes tiny little noises of pleasure that make him harder and harder but he doesn't rush. After he's rinsed her hair, Jack soaps up the washcloth and runs it gently over the front of her body. The pass over her breasts is exquisitely careful and then he is moving down her stomach. Water sloshes as her legs part and then he is running the soft material over the inner surface of each thigh before dragging it softly over her center.

By the time he pulls Liz to her feet to rinse her off under the spray of the showerhead, she is a boneless mass of relaxation. In contrast, every inch of him is stretched tight and hard as steel. The pressure between his legs is a constant ache, but worth it because she is wet, naked and making the softest little noises, pure surrender in his arms.

…

Her hands stop his lips from reaching her pale stomach.

Jack's gaze travels from her smooth tummy to her face, flushed from arousal. Her hair is still damp from the bath and it fans out onto the pillow. They are taking it easy, and he is alarmed at the possibility of her being hurt. "Lemon, what's wrong?"

Her reply is so mumbled that he only catches one word out of it. (Which is not unusual for her, even though Jack likes to think that she has progressed in the bedroom confidence department since they've been together.)

"Ugly..."

He draws his eyes from hers to glance at the red and silver streaks of the stretch marks marring her skin. He has seen them before, and doesn't understand Liz's sudden trepidation.

"No. Don't look."

His hands cover hers slowly and move them away, and he touches his lips to every individual pinkish streak.

"They're nothing to worry about, Lemon."

Liz shakes her head slowly, but his piercing stare brings her movements to a stop.

"These little stretch marks represent our family. What we have together. And that," he presses another kiss to her tummy, "is beautiful. As are you."

He's right. She knows that he's right, and feels foolish for getting caught up on something like this when there are much more important things in her life right now. Such as the quiet breathing of their baby, asleep in her bassinet a few feet from their bed.

She smiles. "Okay, maybe they aren't so bad after all."

"Obviously," he smirks. "I'm always right."

"Oh, you're always—" she starts to say, before his lips come crashing onto hers.

…

Here they are again in front of the fireplace on Christmas Eve. Tree, presents, booze. Check, check, and—well, the last one is significantly depleted, but still, check. It is exactly the same and yet entirely different than their situation this time one year ago.

The difference being, of course, that baby makes three.

She is too young to understand about lights and snow; about coal and greed. The baby will sleep through it all, and yet Jack and Liz know that all too soon she will be crawling, walking, talking...but also learning, and sharing, and living.

Liz pulls the Slanket tighter around them, nestling deep into Jack's warm body. The awe has not yet worn off, and she is so beyond belief that having it all is, in fact, possible, that she can do little but sit in silence and allow herself to be mesmerized by the cozy flames in the hearth.

The snow is falling outside.

A baby is falling asleep.

And two people fall somehow deeper in love, protected by the embrace of a fleece blanket purchased from QVC and the warmth of each other.

…

_Prologue_

…

It is a windy spring day at the Central Park Zoo.

Marlin Bradley, for the past fifty years, has been selling ice cream from his small cart just inside the gates. He has scooped chocolate for old men, strawberry for young girls, and Rocky Road for everyone in between. Bradley considers himself wiser than the most qualified anthropologist, having observed people from all walks of life. But there is one type of customer that he favors, even after all these years: the family unit.

Today, he watches the entrance with the usual sereneness. It's quiet for a Sunday, and he does not expect a line in front of his cart. Eventually, a group of three approaches his area, and they recite their choices (mint chocolate chip for the woman, peanut butter for the man; cookie dough for the child).

He hands the small girl her cone first, and she licks it eagerly, smearing the cold treat on her face from her excitement. She cannot be more than two or three, and ice cream is still such an experience for her. While he expertly scoops the other flavors, Bradley watches the father smirk at his daughter's antics, undoubtedly smug in the fact that it will be his wife, and not him, who will have to deal with the sticky mess later.

The toddler is the spitting image of the slender woman, with curly brown hair in two little pigtails; only her piercing blue eyes interrupt the resemblance. Bradley can see a mischief in them that matches her father's, and he senses that it is the woman—with a face that holds certain awareness—who keeps everyone grounded.

Bradley watches as the threesome walk away from him, further into the zoo. They are an attractive group, confident in their strides, and he smiles to himself while sliding the cooler doors shut.

Family is one of nature's masterpieces.

…

_End_


End file.
